


Protoforms

by Callenward



Category: Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Gen, Origin Story, Prequel, Science Fiction, Suspense, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 62,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callenward/pseuds/Callenward
Summary: Eons before Autobot and Decepticon, the mysterious Quintessons harvest a new energy discovered on a most unusual planet. To them, this is just another world to rule, and they created the protoforms to do their bidding. Cybertron will see many heroes and villains rise and fall in the millennia to follow, all will owe their lives to the first Cybertronians who set their world free.





	1. Prologue

"A rather interesting planet." five space-faring travelers remarked to themselves as they surveyed this new world. Looking out from their heavily damaged vessel, they saw rolling hills of tarnished silver and sharp twisted spires. Stars and nebulae of thick gas flowed across the sky. This will make a fine refuge to begin their next project. "... An interesting planet indeed."

In the months that followed the land around their vessel was built into a city-fortress. Robotic workers worked day and night to realize the vision of their oppressive masters. Some of these workers spent much time discussing the unfair relationship they had with their creators. On this night one of these robots was thinking to himself about what he'll do next. Remembering a promise he made to a close friend. Mechanical optics watched the stars and the moons from atop a metallic structure. He was in deep thought over what he knows is right. The lone robot leaped down, and marched through the streets to speak with his creators.

"Division Gamma workers…" A digital voice rang out from speaker towers "return to stowing sector Beta for recharge phase." The robot ignored the order, walking through the scrap-littered streets to the center hub where the streets were more open but also deserted.

The original spaceship was now surrounded by a reinforced wall. The gates to the grounded vessel were guarded by two robotic enforcers, behind them stood a recorder drone —a crude robot concerned with protocols. He was entering a report into a handheld computer. The guards glared and grunted as the robot approached; one crossing his pike across his path, the other prodding him in the side. The recorder approached from behind the enforcers. His head cocked to one side as he waited for an explanation for the imposition.

"I wish to speak with the _Quintessons_." voiced the lone robot. The guards chuckled. He stood firm and declared "We have taken enough orders from these hidden rulers. These masters, yours and mine, owe us an audience if they want our continued service. If I may not pass, tell them yourself our critical maintenance duties will be relinquished!" He stared firm into their shadowy visors. After a moment, the recorder tapped one guard on the shoulder; they withdrew their weapons and allowed him passage—chuckling as the recorder lead him through the twisted corridors to the bridge.

They reach the entrance of the ships command deck that overlooked the city. The recorder looked down at his handheld computer "You must wait" He stated, optics on his screen. The robot could still see into the room. The rising moon shines a golden light onto the floor. In the centre of the room stands another slender drone. He recognizes the drone as one of the collectors. They serve a special purpose for The Quintessons, who now sit behind a veil of shadow as they look down on the drone. Having never seen the Quintessons before, he was curious what they were truly like. Their agents were always strict and unfeeling. He hoped their masters were beings of sympathy, if not reason.

"My esteemed Lords," Begins the drone as he bows with reverence. "I have continued my function to provide a steady supply of the enigmatic energy emergences. I regret with the resources I have, I cannot supply them in the quantities you desire." The figure behind the shadow does not react as the drone pauses. "I ask of you, my most pious and primary of powers that be, to grant me the means to serve your better. I only request additional rations to scout farther into the wastelands, or more of your servants to assist me; or, if I may sugges-"

A twisted scepter waved out from the shadows. "Enough." The dark figure spoke with overlapping voices—hissing, and cackling amongst other imposing tones. Only a single voice was heard next; one that beamed with arrogance "We do not submit to you, drone. You serve us. We demand that you supply more of the anomalies, and—you will continue to do so without protest." The voice that concluded the speech was clearly different from the one that began. The Quintessons paused; the robot outside can feel gazes looking him over. The scepter abruptly points to the drone. "You will wait outside." The drone bows in gratitude, and walks to the door, passing the determined robot now marching into the centre of the hall.

Standing in the centre of the grand room, the robot's blue exterior beamed in the moonlight. His slender legs stood firm, and his gaze focused on the shadowy figure, perched high on a darkened, twisted throne.

"Esteemed Tyrants," He could feel his words echo in the great hall; lingering with disdain. "I am Armaetrus Epsilon. I speak on behalf of the protoforms. I have only lived a short time, yet I somehow _know_ that the conditions in which we live cannot be considered fair by beings of your 'superior' intellect. I and the other protoforms are forced to perform dangerous tasks and are rewarded with the brutal treatment of your 'loyal' agents. We have lived under your rule, and yet never seen the faces of our creators. Until now I wondered if the enforcers were in fact corrupting your authority, and not performing precisely as they were ordered. But now I see they do carry out your exact wishes: that you wish for us to be subjugated, even killed to satisfy your whims alone."

" _Hagh_!" The Quintessons bellowed as a metallic tentacle swung out and vanished behind the veil of darkness "You are speaking with your creators now—we ought to teach you some respect!"

"No amount of knowledge you have gained, no powers or technology can give you the right to treat us this way!" Armaetrus's voice was focused, projected so well the walls resonated even behind the twisted throne. "Your unwavering secrecy shows your cowardice. You pathetic, nameless vermin who hide behind dim-witted guards deserve no loyalty from us. Our minds… our will is stronger than you can hope to contain. I am Armaetrus Epsilon, of the protoforms. Know that my friends, who have all the beliefs and dedication as I do, are prepared to resist if conditions will not change!"

The scepter flew out from the shadow. Hitting Armaetrus and knocking him off his feet. The Quintessons had heard enough. Four guards rushed over to discipline the protoform. Striking him with their heels, and stabbing him with their pikes. After several moments of indulging in this lesson in obedience the Quintessons shouted "Guards. Away!" leaving the body of a mangled robot lying, trembling and cringing as he strains to rise to his battered feet. Electric sparks sprayed from his joints, and neon fluid leaked from rifts in his plating.

From behind the shadow, emerged The Quintessons. A thin torso hunched high over a flat, disk with many short, crab-like legs. In one of their skeletal arms was a clawed device. Armaetrus tried not to waver as he looked into the faces of each of his oppressors for the first time.

"Perhaps your defiance is merely from a lack of—understanding." Faces shifted along tracks around an enlarged cranium atop the Quintesson form; they took turns occupying a centre slot as they spoke, but their eyes were always fixed on Armaetrus. "To hold a position of—authority as we do, the flaws of individual personalities must be—excised. Only minds dedicated to seizing power— truly deserve to wield it. You may call us Pride—Greed—Malice—Inquiry, and—Faith…" Faith held the centre slot as the tall figure clambered nearer and nearer to Armaetrus. Five tentacles picked the crippled form up high; glaring as their eyes burned with hatred. "…and those without power exist only to serve—or won't exist at all!" Hands sharply drew across, ripping at the chest plate of poor Armaetrus, helpless to stop them. A final pry reveals a chamber at the core of the robot: a small cavity, housing a pulsing orb of energy. "Now, _will_ you still Resist?" whispered Inquiry.

Armaetrus tried to struggle free. Even if he had not been beaten, he still would have no hope to escape. The Quintessons could easily have crushed his body, but they hungered for something far more sinister now. The clawed-contraption is drawn up. Armaetrus could only watch as it enters his chest. Faith: the skull clad in an insidious tribal headdress loomed over him; locking its eyes to Armaetrus as the light in his eyes faded. His body fell limp.

The Quintessons dropped the lifeless body to the floor. The clawed device held the pulsing energy. They stared at it as it flickered in their grasp. Holding the device in front of them, they collapse the claw—detonating the orb in a burst of energy that rocked the floor and even knocked one of the guards off their feet. Some heads laughed while others only grinned at the spectacle. Malice caught sight of the clumsy guard clambering to his feet and quickly wrapped a tentacle around his neck before he could stand. Decapitating the guard and tossing the head aside with a most sadistic cackle. Their short, crablike legs crawled back up to their twisted throne. As the laughter subsided, Pride called again to the collector, who casually witnessed their commonplace brutality.

"Here." Gesturing to the bodies lying on the floor. "Build what assistance you can from these. Your best collection thus far yielded three in a single expedition—you must use any means to return with ten by the quantum cycle's end. It seems we will be purging much of our work force, and will need to replenish the losses accordingly." The drone bowed in gratitude and dragged their remains out of the hall.


	2. Form and Function

Junk. Components of robots littered the shop. Some parts were mangled beyond recognition. Kaetor, the collector drone, supervised the assembler drone.

A new drone came online. Servos hummed, optic sensors scanned the room. The assembler continued to attach the last arm to the slender torso. Kaetor walked to a computer console to complete the activation. A cord connected the computer to the new drone's head.

"Begin vocal diagnostic protocol." hummed the assembler "State your name."

The new drone cocked his head to one side, staring vacantly at Kaetor. Kaetor entered a lengthy sequence of code into the computer.

" _Tracer_." answered the new drone. Kaetor continued to enter code into the computer. "…Primary Function: Obey. The Quintessons; Secondary function: Collect. Energy Samples."

"Satisfactory." concluded Kaetor. "Stand up." Tracer twitched his head as he scanned his legs, the room, and Kaetor. He began by wiggling his feet, his shins, thighs and eventually popping up to stand atop the workbench he had been laying on. _[Sheek]_ the door to the assembly chamber opened. A formidable, dark and beastly robotic enforcer entered, pausing to observe the awkward drone standing on the bench.

"Why is it standing like that?" grunted the enforcer.

Kaetor replied "I am currently coding its cognitive-"

"Get down, slag." he ordered, watching Tracer's glance wander about the room. "I said, DOWN!" He lurched over and yanked his foot down. Tracer did not flail as he fell. He was convincingly absent; meeting the ground head first. Scoffing at the pathetic new member "You were given two, you could only make one? And you made _this_?"

"Only one cranium provided." answered the assembler. Turning then to Tracer "Stand up." Tracer hopped to his feet, standing at attention and looking past the robust beastly figure. "Superfluous components remain in chest cavity. Drone also requires coding data tracks for all essential—"

"—The Quintessons expect results!" the enforcer snorted. "Get this pathetic drone out of my sight. To the wastes with both of you!" gesturing to Kaetor and Tracer. "Don't return without the anomalies. As for you," looking at the assembler "take the rest of this scrap to the pits." He was referring to the extra limbs and pieces littering the shop. The assembler paused, hesitantly raising his arms in confusion before pointing to the large armature anchoring him to the shops wall. The enforcer grunted "Drag yourself there, or build legs if you must, I have bigger things to do. He shoved passed Kaetor, walking up to a window open to the street. Tracer could hear voices. Communicating. No. Arguing. The guard pushed passed Kaetor again to rush out the exit.

Kaetor spoke calmly as he always does, still typing away at the computer. "Proper coding will be suspended for now. Initiating novice spectator mode. Data tracks will be supplemented vocally. Drone will comply with all orders and retain all details seen and heard for duration of excursion. Do you understand?"

Tracer stood motionless for a moment "Unit Tracer will comply."

"Satisfactory." said Kaetor. The assembler bolted a final component to his thigh; a storage holster holding five glass cylinders with triggers. Tracer looked at them just as he heard loud crashes outside.

They stepped out into the street. Bright stars overhead. Two bodies lay motionless on the ground, sprawled out with limbs broken. There were two brutish enforcers standing over a female protoform, twisting her arm in submission. When the one enforcer heard Tracer and Kaetor emerge he looked over, paused, and then released the apprehended robot, laughing to his mate about _something_. She stood up. Regaining her composure and looked over to the familiar robot standing with Kaetor. She cautiously approached Tracer. With each step her eyes glowed brighter, yet she seemed nervous. When she stood in front of Tracer her eyes were locked with his.

"Arm… aetrus?" she uttered. Tracer did not know this word. In his mind he queried ' _is this a command, or a request?'_ She spoke louder "What happened?" He glanced over at Kaetor, familiar but still unsure of this aberrant behavior himself. Seeing no hints to his course of action, Tracer looks again to the female. Her gaze was lower, as she gently ran her hand over his chest. A loose plate on the front slid to one side, revealing crude mechanical parts and a vacant energy-containment chamber. Her legs gave in as an unseen weight fell hard onto her. Tracer watched as she collapsed to the ground. Her quivering digital voice was faint, but Tracer heard "You promised me…" Tracer watched and felt nothing. He mused to himself _'Why does she behave this way, are there more like her? … Strange'_. Kaetor beaconed and lead him down the road to the gates of the city.

The two drones hiked into the wastes. The city receded into the horizon as they trekked over rolling hills toward a formation of sharp, rusted peaks. Tracer was preoccupied thinking about what's happened so far.

"Query..." Tracer spoke out loud. "Unit Tracer seeks further information on subject 'Quintessons.'"

"The Quintessons are the wisest and powerful beings from the farthest reaches of space." Kaetor stated, rather formally. "They alone possess the power to give life to dead matter and are therefore true gods that must be revered."

Tracer hummed satisfied with those facts, still wondering about other things as they hiked. "Unit Tracer seeks additional information on the _anomalies_ to be collected."

"The Quintessons wish to understand them. The anomalies only appear on this planet and they appear in abundance. We venture to find them because they only emerge in isolated regions for a short duration before dissipating. Through rigorous trials The Quintessons have devised a way to contain them; the devices now stored on the drones thigh. Activating the trigger on the top converts the unstable anomaly into a stable state called a _spark_. The female seen in the city was a _protoform_ : they are an experimental type of servant with one of these _sparks_ contained within them."

Kaetor continued "The spark actively integrates with their core programming. The Quintessons have observed the changes made by the sparks. Drones are truly loyal, programmed with protocols they will perform duties as they are written. Drones cannot form plans or diverge from the orders given. These new protoforms can think in ways drones cannot, they can form plans and execute them on their own. When unexpected circumstances interfere with plans, protoforms can adapt immediately. They are adequate for working in chaotic conditions. Mostly construction and response to disasters."

"…Problems, however, emerge because they do not behave in predictable patterns nor require guidance from the Quintessons. Protocols that were primary functions seemed to be displaced by new, _learned_ behaviors. Many become distracted, defiant, and even deceitful. Protoforms have given false orders as coming from the Quintessons, leading to counterproductive actions by the drones. As such, drones are to ignore all orders given by protoforms. Only The Quintessons and their most loyal agents may command a drone."

The drones were getting closer to the rusted peaks. Tracer could see a labyrinth of metal spiraling up to the summit. He could see tiny lights flickering and fading. "Are those the anomalies?" he asked.

"Affirmative." Kaetor said staring ahead. "Anomalies will move when approached. Unit Kaetor logged many of their patterns of movement into Tracer's data tracks, they will help you predict the most likely point to intercept and capture them. We will separate so that we may catch more than if we worked in the same area. There. You'll follow that path on the left."

Tracer walked down the path. Shimmering ore riddled the cliffs around him. The path opened into a wider space, Tracer could see faint glows behind some of the boulders. Creeping up, Tracer turned a corner to see a shimmering light hovering in front of him. He drew one of the containment devices and swung it over to the anomaly… only to see the light flicker and fade into a luminescent wisp of dust.

Tracer emerged from behind the boulder. Another anomaly darted from the cliff above him, as a reflex his arm shot up and snatched it into the containment device. He paused. Looking at the tiny speck as it fluoresced in several colours. Satisfaction and intrigue briefly held him before he tapped the trigger on the top of the device. A pulse of energy release into the chamber and the fluorescent speck changed into a pulsing orb. Tracer noted the changes: a slow beat of inward and outward motion; numerous particles orbiting a nucleus of harmonic energy. Once the changes were noted, Tracer returned the container to the receptacle on his thigh. Other anomalies could be seen tucked under rocks or hovering in mid-air. Tracer collected three more before continuing up the path.

Turning the corner, Tracer saw another anomaly. Most of the anomalies so far changed between colours, and moved when tracer took notice of them. This one hung in the air, maintaining a violet haze. Tracer approached slowly with the containment device. The anomaly always moved just enough to stay out of reach. Tracer swung fast to catch the elusive speck, only to see it dart up a nearby rock face. Tracer holstered the containment device and climbed up. When he reached the top, he looked around for the violet speck but could see no trace of it. _'It surely dissipated by now.'_ Tracer turned to descend down the rock face back to the path. As he turned he saw a collection of waves and pulses overlap and witnessed a new anomaly the moment it was formed.

Not wanting to miss this opportunity, Tracer drew the containment device and swung to catch it. Missed—it shot around and behind him. Tracer turned around to see it zip right over his head. In his mind, this movement matched precisely with one that Kaetor had logged. His processors locked onto the optimal point to intercept… Tracer leaped off of the cliff. He scooped it out of the air, triggered the pulse to stabilize the spark and watched it change… as he fell hard onto the ground below.

Kaetor heard the sound and came to investigate. Tracer's head and torso took the blunt of the impact, but the containment device had also been fractured. Kaetor could see the spark inside trembling as energy vapours leaked through fractures in the glass.

"Drone, stand up."

Tracer's electronic voice was full of static and skipped "Power core… rrrrrruptured. Energy cells deeeeeepleted. All non-essential systems shhhhut down. Motor capabilities ssssuspended."

Kaetor looked over the mess of parts. "Unit Tracer's assistance is necessary to return the collected samples to the Quintessons." Staring at the fractured containment chamber "Incidentally the superfluous components left in the drone's chest cavity can facilitate preservation of both. Minor adjustments to the power core will safely contain the spark and restore adequate power. These modifications, however, will have to be temporary." He mused as his hands were busy tinkering. "Yes, you owe your continued existence to your unfortunate predecessor, let us hope you're a better survivor than he was." Tracer the drone fell limp momentarily as Kaetor connected the spark to his power supply. Tracer the protoform _awakened_ ; opening his eyes to a sky full of stars. Heavenly bodies paused to welcome him. Stars pulsed in harmony with the spark now inside him. By his will alone, he desired to move. Gravity held him down, but not enough for even his meager strength to stretch out one hand to touch the sky.

_'Remember this moment.'_

Against the backdrop of nebulae loomed an odd, violet speck. Too high to reach, Tracer only watched. The speck hovered… observing... and somehow… planning, before dissipating into a luminescent wisp of dust.


	3. Sparked

Every rusted dune captivated Tracer. They weren't different based on mass, altitude or elemental composition; there was a significant _uniqueness_ he couldn't ignore.

_'They're just hills!'_ Tracer thought to himself. ' _What's happening to me?'_ His inner drone programming was beginning to surface. He recalled his directives, a list of mere suggestions now. But Tracer knew he had to be true to his function. After all, he was part of something great: in service to the immortal Quintessons—whatever they were. The changes in his perception were only side-effects from the spark inside him. ' _Only temporary'_ he reminded himself. He suppressed his desires to dwell on distractions and looked ahead to the city beyond the metallic desert.

Smoke rose from one corner of the city. Kaetor and Tracer were close now to see into the main gates of city. Tracer saw enforcers chasing down protoforms in the streets. He remembers the lifeless bodies he saw earlier and the devastated female who collapsed at his feet. These memories… The more he thought of them, the more he saw what he missed. He somehow gained a sense of what she felt... Grief. Despair. He could now see a protoform struggling to be free as an enforcer drags him off. Tracer saw the unmistakable look of terror in his eyes. He looked away, trying to put it out of his mind.

Tracer and Kaetor were back in the shop of the assembler drone. This place calmed Tracer. He was lying on the bench while the assembler rummaged through his shelves for the tools he needed. The quirky mechanic couldn't help but sway to and fro atop his newly fashioned legs. Every step was outrageously exaggerated. He walked back to begin his repairs on Tracer—stopping halfway to go back and modify his footwork. Tracer found it amusing.

Kaetor was typing something into a keypad on a wall. It wasn't related to the repairs.

The assembler spoke as he worked "A few plate patches; some higher strength wiring; and how about some new paint? I've been experimenting with some complimentary palates. The blue on your chest doesn't match the green on your forearms. Were you built out of scrap parts?"

"Yes…" Tracer began, "You built me only about a few cycles ago. Remember? The blue can stay, but maybe some tan and white trim to cover the green."

"Good choice." The quirky bot agreed as he wave one of his tools about. "I actually don't remember. A drones data tracks have very limited capacity. I've had to repurpose my internal memory to being better at conversation. It allows me to diagnose patients better, I can tell where internal damage is based on what parts of their behavior are faulty. With the enforcers, I can't tell if they have defective circuitry or if they are made with the intellect of a landmine."

Tracer stared at the cracks in the ceiling "I guess they have the same limits on their memory as you do." Tracer thought about his spark. He could still keep his memories, he could articulate better but nothing mechanical has actually been added. ' _These sparks are like a second mind_...'

A large screen on a wall facing Tracer lit up. "Insubordinate Drone!" crackled a sinister voice. Tracer tried to lean up but the repairs weren't finished. He could barely see the large form with sets of red glowing eyes. "You dare to keep us waiting?"

"I apologise, Masters." Kaetor bowed as the screen turned on. "But I assure you I was following your explicit instructions to 'use any means to return with ten by the quantum cycle's end'. It was necessary to transport the spark within the damaged drone. My intentions were not to undermine your procedures for the sparks, but in this most dire of circumstances I could not return without doing my best." Kaetor walked to the bench and stood over Tracer opposite the assembler. "This spark was only to be transported temporarily within the drone. Now that they have both been safely returned, it will be reclaimed immediately." Kaetor grabbed one of the empty spark containers, and reached to open Tracer's chest.

Tracer flailed and writhed on the bench. Grabbing Kaetors wrist and trying to hold him at bay. "A moment, Kaetor." came the voice from the monitor. More calm than before. The face on the figure slid up and away, while a new one came up into its place. A calm face with a long chin and a headdress with amber jewels stared into the room. "Release the protoform, let us examine him."

Tracer sat up. He looked at the figure on the screen. Periodically other faces crept into view, but the speaker was not interrupted. "I am _Inquiry_. We often find it necessary to consider your small-minded perspectives so that we may better anticipate your inevitable failings. I see curiosity in you, yet it has not kept you from performing your function. Hmm… Are you even aware of the great risk you have taken today?"

"After I fell in the wasteland, containing the spark was the only way I could have made it back." Tracer rambled. Another face crept in close and a tentacle brushed across Inquiry's face. Wrapping around his chin and gently tugging him off the centre slot. A face of glaring superiority took control.

"NO, imbecile! The spark _itself_ is a tremendous risk to you. We who can bend entire worlds do not fully understand them. They may expire at any time. At most you will sustain it for a few mega-cycles but they all have an inescapable, finite longevity!" he sounded so certain. Tracer felt as though his chest would collapse that very moment.

Inquiry returned "There may yet be a way to preserve them…"

"… But we _must_ have your unquestionable loyalty!" appeared a red-eyed skull. Activity around grew silent. "By our… _generosity…_ you may keep this spark; you must, however, remain true to our orders that you may prove you've earned such an honour. Do you not agree?"

"Yes…" Tracer felt he could control his feelings. He wanted to prove himself. After all: nothing outside him has changed, it's all just an interference pattern from the spark: a force of nature to be harnessed. Refined. "… I will comply." In his mind he heard his own voice mockingly respond ' _Drone will aaalways comply_.'

Slowly a new face clad in many colours with a wide, satisfied grin took to the centre slot. Already Tracer felt he was earning their favor. "Our operations are being jeopardized by a few bands of ungrateful, rogue protoforms." professed the thrilled face. "They have carried out attacks on our power generators. We will send you with one of our enforcers to protect a critical target. If you encounter any of the rogue protoforms—" The skull then concluded. "you must ensure they do not escape. Destroy them, if necessary."

Tracer paused "Yes... _masters_."

The screen went blank.

* * *

Tracer had met up with the enforcer, Razyr; A broad, robust figure with a helmet that concealed his face. He would periodically freeze and frantically look all around. He seemed to be frantic about a sound no one else can hear. Tracer followed him, but stayed clear of the invisible bubble around the beastly enforcer. A sharp tomahawk was sheathed on his hunched back. The two reached the generators housed in a large structure. Catwalks and ramps ran across every level of the open structure. Drones were busy with their duties and paid no attention to the two as they entered. Razyr locked the main entrance behind them.

"How many entrances are there?" asked Tracer. He saw Razyr look down and mutter to himself as he counted on his fingers.

"Five… eight… er… LOTS!" He eventually blurted out. Razyr's voice was a deep growl forced into words at several times their needed volume. Shoving Tracer down one corridor before shouting "Go that way. Hruughl!"

Tracer ran. Then jogged. Then walked. ' _This place is huge'_ he thought to himself. Looking off the catwalk down onto the busy working floor. All the drones walked the same way. Stiff. Focused. Organized. ' _A Protoform should be easy to spot_.'

Exiting the catwalk, Tracer came to a maintenance chamber. There was a window looking out into the structure and a large panel with dials, schematics, gauges, and blinking lights. Behind him was a set of large pipes that he saw feed out into the tops of the generators. Tracer looked at the panel. The schematics and dials showed activity in the entire facility. If anything happened he could find out exactly where he needed to go.

_'Someone's coming!'_ Tracer could hear running footsteps along the catwalk outside. _'It's coming from around a bend just out of sight.'_ As he turned to intercept it, Tracer turned fast as another form emerged from behind the pipes, dashed across the chamber and pinned him against the panel.

Tracer's neck was in the robots grasp. He couldn't turn his head, but he could see the clean, white gleam of a confident metallic face. "Traitor!" He cursed. "You said you'd give your very spark for the chance to save all of ours! You had us all believe in your cause. We trusted you! Did they promise to spare you in exchange for our lives?"

The footsteps arrived: the female from before. She approached while Tracer felt a tight grip from the enraged protoform. "Trion, wait!" She cried "He's not Armaetrus anymore. His chamber's empty. Look!" A moment passed before he loosened his grip and let Tracer down. He looked back at the female before jabbing his hand into Tracer and jerking open the front panel. Tracer lost his balance and was still very confused. But everything changed when everyone saw the shimmering glow of a spark. All was silent. The astounded female spoke softly "But I saw this one before… Just after they raided the city. He was a just a drone."

Tracer interjected "I was. I was a collector. But I had to hold this new spark to bring it back safely… from the wastes where they come from."

Tracer's words shocked the female. "You mean... the Quintessons don't make sparks?"

"No, they're trying to understand them, and this planet that creates them."

"Why?" asked the male.

"I— I don`t know."

"Those liars... I'll bet they sent you to find us." Proposed Trion "You're just the one they'd send to lure us out. If I were more impulsive you'd have gone over that ledge without a second thought… but I made a promise to a far more sensible bot… that I would never harm one of our own." He shuddered in disbelief. Holding back arguing with a ghost.

"The explosives are ready." mentioned the female "We should go."

The male released Tracer. "You should leave too, collector. You don't want to be here when this place goes up. Don't try to stop us." He pushed Tracer against the wall and the two ran outside.

Tracer got up and pursued them. Turning the corner he could see them two levels below running into a corridor. Clumsily clambering down railings and support beams he tried to work out what they were talking about. Thoughts began to clash. He thought he was chasing them because he swore to carry out the orders of the Quintessons, but he felt inside his obedience wasn't as strong as his curiosity. He wanted to know more about the other protoforms and this 'Armaetrus'. He uttered the name as he ran. It had an eerie feeling.

The floor quaked beneath him. One of the generators had ruptured and exploded. Fire and smoke filled the air as the structure collapsed behind him. He kept running. The explosion had made him more alert. A sense of fear and alertness took hold of him. There was anger too. _'What senseless destruction.'_ he thought to himself. _'These Protoforms claim to value sensibility and doing no harm? I must catch them. They can either answer to me, or the Quintessons!'_ He tapped into the com-link on his visor "Razyr, I found two rogue protoforms. They're heading for the next generator in sector three."

"Don't let them escape. Nwuuarl!" Razyr roared.

Tracer reached the end of the corridor and the next sector to the generator complex. A drone was casually strolling by. A bar code on his chest read "Delta-M6" Tracer urgently asked "Two protoforms came through here. Which way did they go?" The drone slowly turned and pointed to a set of stairs leading to the base of a generator. Tracer dashed as fast as he could. _'Strange'_ he thought. _'Aren't drones programed to ignore me now? Why did he comply?'_

Tracer leaped down the stairs. Stumbling to regain his balance he looked up to see the two protoforms. Cornered, save for a high fall into a dark pit.

The unmistakable sound of Razyr's bulky feet could be heard echoing through the complex.

"You're coming with me." Tracer demanded. Watching his quarry look for the diminishing alternative to combat "I need answers. Come as my prisoners and I'll guarantee your safety." The boldness in their faces faltered into alarm as a sleek, metallic tomahawk flew past Tracer and stuck into Trion's collar. Trion exclaimed as electric sparks gushed forth. The female braced her companion. Locking eyes with Tracer. A look that pierced deep into his very core.

"Naawrl! Well, well…" Razyr pushed past Tracer before heaving his heavy, gurgling voice up again "Alpha Trion! The last of the instigators… I'll claim your head for a trophy!"

The platform rocked as another explosion shot through the complex above them. Everyone stumbled to one side as the entire structure dropped an entire level before wrenching to a halt. Tracer slipped between the railings and grabbed ahold to keep from falling. He saw Razyr clamber back to his feet and the female hoisted up her injured cohort and dove off the platform. Tracer watched the act of total desperation and he felt a solid grip on his wrist. Razyr lifted up the lanky protoform with an outstretched arm, looked down beneath the raging inferno and barked "After them! Hruughl!" before dropping Tracer into the pit. Laughing.


	4. Artifacts

_'Freefall: arguably preferable to the destruction above'_ Tacer could hear in his mind _'Especially that feral and reckless Razyr_. _Although, where this chasm ends may change that_. _'_ Tracer's limbs flailed wildly to control his alignment. Panic made his mind feel it was working in fast forward, and his body like it was moving through thick oil. Instincts seemed to taking over: even if his legs are crippled from impact, it will protect his more vital components. So intuitive to him now, yet it had been missing in his underlying drone programming. It would be fascinating… were he not certain this fall could be the end of him.

There was a sound of shrapnel skidding; ricocheting.

Tracers arm dragged down a solid metal wall. It was too dark to see below, but the wall was definitely shifting over. He tumbled trying to get a running stride down. A rolling trip sent him barrelling down, rolling him over more times than he could count. Losing total awareness of which was up and how he may try to stop. The constant impacts turned into a rhythmic numbing; then into unconsciousness.

* * *

[Running internal diagnostics…]

[Excessive trauma to superstructure… Detecting fractures and areas of foreign objects imbedded beneath armour...]

[Com-link transmitter and receiver inoperative...]

[No damage to neural processors and memory tracks. Spark containment functioning within optimal conditions.]

[Motor capabilities still functioning… _Alright. Alright… is that how I used to talk? Ugh. Where am I?_ ]

Tracer turned on his optics. He began stirring with small movements, taking several moments before even trying to stand on two feet. It was dark. But his optics and narrow slits into his internal power supplies provided the faintest of glows. Beyond arms reach was in total darkness. The disorientation was gradually receding. Tracer looked up to see if the light from the burning complex could be seen. Turing in all directions, he remembered he didn't fall from straight up. Maybe he had, but the last the he remembers was skidding down a slope.

Tracer shuffled his feet and held his arms out to find… anything. _'The two protoforms would have fallen here too'_ he thought _'unless they got caught somewhere in that shaft_. _There may be a network of these tunnels; forget the protoforms, what if I can't make it back to the surface? I should keep moving if there's any hope.'_

Following a polished wall face, Tracer could hear the sound of his feet echoing off ahead of him… _'with any luck this will lead somewhere.'_

His feet were soon stirring through layers of shrapnel. Small bits of scrap and debris until… _[Shuunk]_ Something was at Tracer's foot: an odd, round object. He bent down to pick it up. It was a robotic head. It had a large triangular rostrum that dwarfed its chin, a three-tiered helmet, and was in rather good condition except for damage to its left side… and lacking a body. Tracer knelt down to examine it closer.

"I didn't see _you_ in the complex…" Tracer uttered "How did you get down here?" he prodded at parts of the helmet, looking for some opening that may be useful. Looking around the cave Tracer noticed some scattered pieces close by. Many random parts, but some wires caught his eye first. Sliding open his chest plate he wired the head some of his own power supply. A moment passed before the head lit up.

Only one of his optics was working. The head twitched and shuddered for a bit before calming down and looking up at Tracer "There, how's that?" Chimed Tracer jubilantly "How are you feeling? Ahem. State your name, drone."

A digital scramble coughed out of the head, "Lodex Beta, the recorder. It would appear I'm doing much better… I'm having little success in moving at the moment. What condition is my body in?"

"Um, I'll let you know when I find it." chuckled Tracer. "How did you get down here?"

"You'll have to forgive me; I'm a mess right now." began the enthused head. "Last thing I remember I was delivering a report to the creators when they inexplicably began dismantling me on the spot. I can only extrapolate that given our rather foreboding situation that we're both in the tunnels beneath the creators' encampment."

"That's right… So they just threw you down here? Why would they do that?"

"The creator are very excited about this planet." The head declared. "Normally precious elements are buried and must be mined. Here, the whole planet seems to be made of them, so rather than invest in recycling they just discard old and faulty machines and start again from raw materials. It was deemed most efficient."

"They just dump their garbage here." Tracer mused "Efficient, yeah I guess so. Do these lead anywhere?"

"I can only imagine _where_ they lead." The head bragged. "I know there are a couple deep caverns, but the creators are too interested in their latest projects to fully explore them. Why are you here?"

"Two protoforms are trying to escape through these tunnels. They've attacked part of the city and must be brought to justice. The… _creators_ have charged me to find them." Tracer began to wonder _'this is twice now he's been able to talk with a mere drone.'_ He remembers Kaetor clearly telling him that drones have to ignore any robot with a spark. _'Why doesn't this one care?'_

"Then I must follow my programming and assist you. I only have one question."

"Sure, go ahead."

"What is a... protoform?"

Tracer almost fumbled the head at such a bizarre question. "Uh." He realized this drone has either lost some memory or was built before the Quintessons created protoforms. _'But that means this guy's old_... _like months old!'_ Tracer didn't want to take too long so he turned the head toward him and slid the panel on his chest.

"Format me!" exclaimed Lodex "I know what that is. I knew the creators could preserve them. They believe they had extraordinary potential."

Tracer closed the panel. It did light up the cave more, but he felt vulnerable leaving it open. He didn't want to say any more. "I'd say so. Two more like me have defied the creators, and I must find them."

"I can help you," began the head "I can hear scrap parts on the ground, there may be a trail of debris you can follow."

"Where does it go?"

"I can't be certain at this time. Let me know if you see anything, my optics are damaged and you keep pointing me at the ceiling."

From where they were, Tracer slowly continued on into a vein of tunnels that converged with others. The debris seemed to have been cleared in some areas. A clean path scraped through. The tunnel widened, and Tracer could see the next bend just ahead… he could see it because there was a faint light source past it.

"That'll be the precious _energon_." Remarked the head. "In a mineral state it's merely a glowing rock, but it becomes very versatile when it occurs in liquid form." Tracer's footsteps picked up as he neared the bend. He could see tiny glowing teal pebbles embedded in the tunnel walls and ceiling.

"What can it do? Is it a power source, like a fuel?"

"As a mineral no." replied Lodex. "It produces light but also another form of radiation the creators don't fully understand. So far mineral deposits act as conductors, leading us to find natural reservoirs of _liquid_ energon. The mysterious fluid is a perfect primary source of energy. It gets used up in the generators to produce any type of energy the creators use in their technology; drones, and I suppose protoforms as well. Curious how it can be converted into any other form of energy but only after an intensified refining process that requires great amounts to operate. It was clear from the start of the research they need some kind of catalyst to perfect the conversion."

"A _catalyst_?"

"A way to drastically speed up or simplify the desired chemical reaction."

The floor was littered with many more robot parts. There were no shafts in the ceiling. No evidence of any cave-ins or anything. "How did it all get down here?" inquired Tracer, looking at various heaps of scrap, components and other junk. "These piles look… sorted!"

"Ah, that's rubbish."

"It's not. Look! This bunch here is all servos, and that one is all armor plates…"

"Correct…" restated Lodex "I was not suggesting you were mistaken, rather I was clarifying _who_ had sorted these parts. _Rubbish_."

"There's someone down here?"

"Affirmative. Many faulty enforcers were decommissioned, but he was by far the most likely to have survived. As I suspected."

"… As you _suspected_?" Tracer probed "What exactly is the primary function of a recorder anyway?"

"A recorder observes, logs data relevant to time, space, materials and energy efficiency. We ensure that the vision of the creators is followed precisely in their absence. We can also extrapolate data to calculate possible consequences of actions taken or not taken. Since I'm clearly indebted to you for giving me power, I've withheld the details of calculations I've been making on our journey until you request them. Just know there has been a lot."

"Uh, thank you…" replied Tracer. "So there's a broken enforcer collecting scrap parts…" Tracer pondered, thinking to himself _'I can't see him being any better than the enforcers still in loyal service of—'_ His mind paused when a loud sound echoed from a nearby tunnel, something big. Shuffling and pushing through more debris. Tracer clutched the head tight and dashed into a shaded alcove.

Tracer could feel fear gripping him. _'Run!'_ his mind screamed. _'Hide, call for help, find a weapon—'_ he had never felt panic like this. Every metal-on-metal sound only fed the sensation of panic. The sound of his own limbs against the cave wall, his actuators humming, even his pulsing spark suddenly felt too loud. He shut his optics, picturing the workshop of the assembler. He imagined the quirky drone juggling tools looking for something to fix. Carefree. He thought of a sky so bright starlight alone could cast a crisp shadow: his first memory after receiving the spark. It was working, he opened his optics calmly.

The sound was getting nearer. Tracer could hear many feet in asynchronous marching. He held the head close to his face and at the lowest volume whispered "Don't make a sound!" He tried to contain his composure. A voice could be heard muttering, but Tracer couldn't pick out what it was saying. There was certainty in its tone, a confidence that had been practiced over and over to the point of insanity. It's here now. The sound entered the chamber. Tracer froze.

"Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish. Ah'll never be complete in 'ol 'iss complete mess! Ah found me missing parts ah did. Put 'em in a nice li'l pile. Some'in came through and washes 'em 'ol away. 'Ol ah found was me legs. 'Adn't realize ah'd so many. But complete ah must be, so use them all ah did."

The terrible bot was apparently distracted. Tracer could hear him sorting new parts into the existing piles. He sighed—relaxing slightly.

"Hear something ah thought ah did. Some'ins been picking through me piles. Messing things 'ol about. Put the optics in the servos, put the servos in the cables, put the cables in the vocalizers. Faulty. Ha! They called _me_ faulty. 'Preserve order' they told me, so put things in order ah did! Ah'll find me missing parts. And show them ah will. Not faulty in the least."

Tracer peeked around the corner. He only looked for a few short seconds, what an awful sight. What remained of an enforcer were only two heavy spiked arms, a mangled torso and a small head—small perhaps because the top third had been cut clean off. Electric sparks jumped periodically as he spoke. But below the mangled torso sprouted a long body of a dozen mismatched legs. Thin, thick, quick, slow, graceful and clumsy. Clicking and tapping as Rubbish swayed his pendulum arms and cocked his head as he eyed each and every piece of his collection. Awful and despicable.

Returning behind his cover, Tracer thought again about what to do. _'That thing is huge. My best chance is to run as fast as I can. No… It's too dark. I'll run into a dead end for sure.'_ Tracer's mind argued with itself inside him. _'I can wait here and hope he leaves. But I should come up with a plan in case he doesn't. He may find me, what can I do then? I may be able to outsmart him…'_ He paused for a few moments to pick the exact words to say. He cautiously shifted his weight to find a position to hold more easily. He lifted his foot slowly and looked down to make sure he didn't place it anywhere that might compromise his position. His hands pressed against the cave wall, he was too focused on being quiet he did not notice his toeplate clip the corner of a scrap piece of plate. When he moved his foot the plate clattered and rocked on the metallic cave floor. Rubbish was in the middle of a pause in his ramblings. Tracer may as well have shouted at max volume.

Rubbish stopped his sorting and slowly staggered over to the peculiar sound. Tracer new he didn't have time to come up with a better plan. He stepped out from behind the alcove and with hesitant confidence objected "Oh hi! M-my good… monster-bot, I do believe I-uh seen you're missing parts!" Rubbish halted and looked down, confused at his intruder. "Uh yes! Two robots came through here with them. They've been playing mean tricks on you for…" Rubbish leaned forward, nose-to-nose with the puny object before him "… A reeeally long, uh… time?"

Rubbish shouted in surprise "It's more o' me legs again!" and lunged forward onto Tracer.

 


	5. Alpha Trion

Before Tracer could even blink he found himself hanging by his ankle in the grasp of Rubbish. Tracer could see the odd looking head, Lodex, dangling by two cables in front of him. Rubbish was looking off as he carried them through the tunnels. As though he truly thought they were mere components. Despite being captured, Tracer's impression of his captor was that he was being retrieved; like how he had retrieved sparks far out in the wastelands. He didn't think he was doing any harm, and it would not change his mind at all if he learned he was.

"Alright, big guy…" Tracer groaned. "These legs… THESE legs can't be yours. Haven't you got enough already? Look. I know you can hear me. What do you call those?" Tracer flailed to get some attention as he swung like a pendulum. "Some aren't even legs… _That one_ clearly is an arm! You can't seriously think you're any worse off if you just let us—" Tracer had apparently interrupted a conversation Rubbish was having with himself.

"—S'pose it was about time ah found 'em. Bin down 'ere so long they'd 'av to turn up some time." Electric sparks jumped across the top of his exposed brain as he looked directly at Tracer. "Still nice 'n shiny tho; Got 'ol this extra bits 'ol over 'em. No matter. Ah'll just get me tools, cut out 'ol them bits, fix 'em in place and ah'll be as good as… as good as… well, as good as new ah s'pose. Once ah find the top 'o me 'ed ah'll be rehabilitated, reformed and fit to return to duty."

Tracer wretched out his best sympathetic manner. "You don't _really_ want to do that, do you? Do you really want to go back? Hey! I can help you if you just—"

"—I know you said to not make a sound…" Interjected Lodex "… but we have been discovered, and if there were ever a time to come up with a plan—"

Tracer hastily shouted "Lodex, _this_ is a time where you don't have to be polite. If you have any ideas PLEASE DO SHARE!"

"Rubbish was only able to find us because he followed a sound. It stands to reason his audio processors are functioning perfectly…"

"I really hope you get to that point soon…"

"Yes… anyways he also appears to be very self-conscious about his ability to fulfill his function in order to—"

"LODEX!"

"Just make him mad."

"Honestly, was that so hard?" Tracer sighed hard before looking right up at Rubbish. Trying to find eye contact. "You… Piece of scrap! In the name of the creators: the Immortal Quintessons, I command you to halt! You faulty pile of junk!" Tracer felt his words sting as the hand on his ankle tightened and quaked. "You were cast out because you _cannot_ be fixed. Your circuits are fried beyond repair and you look like a rusted can stuffed with melted wires. A drone like you isn't fit for ballast let alone active duty. What are you, _faulty_? I said HALT!" Tracer was yanked up, swung around that he partially expected to be flung into the wall. He grabbed Lodex to keep from losing him.

"AH. Am not. FAULTY!" Bellowed Rubbish. He snarled as he continued "Ah 'ad to follow me directives. We've been through 'ol thiss before! Sure, ah wanted to sort, ah did. But ah found things they thought were lost. Were they 'appy? No, not 'appy at 'ol. Were they grateful? No, not grateful at 'ol. Fix their big 'ol ship they wanted. Special parts they needed. 'can't exactly bring a spare' they said. In pieces it was, so collected them 'ol ah did. 'Ad it 'ol re-assembled into working condition. So of course, 'ad to try it out—make sure still worked. Ow was ah to know what it did? Only wanted to do me job. Ah didn't mean to do 'ol that. Ah'll fix 'ol that too' ah promised."

Tracer muttered to Lodex "I couldn't make any of that out."

"Rubbish assembled one of the Quintessons' secret weapons… it destroyed an entire manufacturing complex."

Tracer was taken aback. The only weapons he'd seen were pikes and tomahawks. "What kind of weapon could do so much damage… some kind of explosive?"

Lodex chirped "Not exactly. All I know is the Quintessons would not tolerate it used by a mere enforcer." Tracer gestured Lodex to stop. Rubbish was about to continue his monologue.

"—We've been through this over and over. Every time we agree ah did the right thing. You think ah'll never find me thinking cap, but ah feel we're getting closer. Once ah find it ah'll be perfect again and they'll see ah'm worthy to return. And ah forgive you, we can still be friends after 'ol. You can still be me legs."

Tracer was growing anxious "You have to listen to me! I am not… NOT your _legs_! I come from the Quintessons! Yes… The creators themselves sent me to find you, Rubbish. It's their newest project, they call it the… uh, 'reclamation protocol' yeah. You've been down here a long time. The creators realized they were wrong and want to bring you back! Yes, they truly do! They aren't the cruel masters you remember, they want to encourage all drones to be unique individuals just like you!"

Rubbish came to a complete stop. His eyes opened wide and Tracer could feel his grip loosen. "Could it be?" He seemed to relax as he looked off into a non-existent horizon. "Oh 'ow ah long hoped they'd come back for me. Ah've been working nonstop to keep functioning. Energy cells are nearly depleted when ah find them. Each time ah staved off deactivation by mere cycles. Left me so broken, ah 'ad only me 'ed and one arm still attached. To feel agony and fear they wanted me… Or so ah thought. ah see now, just being tested ah was. To prove once and for 'ol ah'm different… 'Ow did you put it… Unique."

"That's right!"

"Then at least ah should meet the creators with me original legs. Ah'm so glad ah finally found them. Well, here we are! Let's clean you up and put you back in place." Rubbish hoisted Tracer up. Tracer could see they had come to a chamber where scrap parts were sorted into many tiny piles. Many tools hung on chains bolted to the walls. There was a spot on the floor that was cleared. Except for several deep gouges, burn marks and stains from dried mech fluid.

"Rubbish… RUBBISH wait… Listen to me!" Tracer panicked and flailed frantically to get free. Kicking and prying at Rubbish's hand while Lodex dangled completely indifferent. Rubbish didn't hesitate as he reached for a rusty cutting tool. Before his hand could grip it, electric sparks sprayed from his head. Energy arced over his body as he convulsed and flinched… tossing Tracer and Lodex into a wall. Tracer collapsed on the ground as he heard the enormous form crash onto the floor. Twitching. At the outside of his vision he could make out a calm female protoform dropping a large tool that discharged slightly when it hit the ground.

Tracer tucked Lodex under one arm as he stood up. He recomposed himself, now relieved to finally be free. As he wandered past Rubbish he felt compelled to take out some remaining frustration. Stomping and kicking the unconscious enforcer while cursing "Piece of scrap! You broken, faulty piece of slagging junk!"

"Leave him alone!" Shouted the female, dashing over to shove Tracer off the heap of rubbish. "What is your defect?"

Tracer, shuttered with a rage "He was going to kill me! You heard him talk, his motherboard is fried. He's as dumb as a diode!"

"Oh is that so? That's not what you were saying a moment ago. What about the 'reclamation protocol' or encouraging 'unique individuals?'"

"I had to find a way to escape. I wasn't going to let him just rip me apart."

"Oh I see. That's really honest of you. Very trustworthy…"

"I think she means _un_ trustworthy." Commented Lodex

"Yeah don't you have that a little backwards?" Repeated Tracer.

"We call it sarcasm, Collector. If you were clever you'd pick up on the implied insult. Guess you have the intellect of a drone after all."

"Now she's insulting both of us." Lodex remarked.

"Oh I see. So you think insults make you clever? This is what you all are, you're just resentful masquerading as eloquent! Too bad it doesn't amount to anything useful. And for the record, the name's Tracer!"

"I don't care who you are. I saved your life and you haven't shown me the slightest gratitude. Now get out of my way I need these tools." She poked and spun the tools hanging on the walls, holstering two of them while packing smaller parts into sealed chambers in her thighs and forearms.

Lodex's eyes turned in their sockets to stare at Rubbish. "It would appear he's been shorted out. I don't see any signs of permanent damage. He may reactivate shortly. I would suggest we leave before he does."

"What a monstrosity." Remarked Tracer as he picked up some brackets and wires. He fixed Lodex to his waist to free up both arms.

"He wasn't made that way…" Replied the female.

"She's right," interrupted Lodex "he wasn't violent before he was decommissioned."

"You both are missing the point." Tracer raised his voice "He is faulty and serves no purpose."

"And _he_ does?" She said pointing at the odd head on Tracer's hip.

"Yeah, he does! He's my guide and, also _isn't_ trying to kill me!" Tracer paused as he watched the female carry her plunder out into the tunnel. "Oh and let's not forget the entire generator station you destroyed, and all the drones working there. So… _they_ don't matter but this abomination does!?"

She turned to rant "They served the Quintessons! As long as they follow their program they are only agents of their creators. We're fighting for free individuals: you, me, even Rubbish."

Tracer scoffed "Is that it? You think you're so special. You're delusional! You would never have existed without them. They made each of us, whether you choose to believe it or not! Wouldn't you rather live a longer life, working toward something great than just fade away because you want more for yourself? You're selfish, that's what you are."

"They only built this body, but our sparks—all sparks come from this planet. You must've seen it yourself! We may have been integrated into their plans, but in each of us there is something they didn't create—that they cannot control. It makes us all unique, and gives us a choice. Your friend back there didn't fit with the plan that was laid out for him. Now he has found a way to survive as an individual. He may be primitive and dangerous, but he is no longer the enemy we fight."

Tracer watched as she looked down the corridors, she seemed a bit lost but was very determined. "So where's the other one. Your friend… Alpha Trion?"

"Why do you care?"

"He's probably in pretty bad shape. You're taking all this to fix him?"

"Go away, collector!"

Tracer bluffed. "Whatever you say. I wouldn't be much help anyway… but Lodex here is a recorder. He's seen the Quintessons repair all kinds of things. Like I was saying, he's become rather helpful since I came down here. Too bad he couldn't help you, though. Drones are only programmed to respond to _loyal_ agents of the creators."

The female stopped and turned. "You're NOT coming with me!"

"Suit yourself." Tracer conceded.

She hesitated, ran down a tunnel before stopping. Tracer could hear her pacing for a moment before she slowly came back. Her face was both annoyed and tense with urgency. "I don't want to see another friend die." She uttered, trying not to make eye-contact with him. "You better keep up. And if you try anything, not even Rubbish will find your remains down here. Do you understand, collector?"

Tracer kept pace with her as she dashed through the tunnels. He wasn't paying attention to where they were going. His eyes were on her. "So what's your name?"

"Keep quiet! Trying to remember which one—this way." She hiked around the next bend before slowing down. Tracer was close enough to hear her servos working. "I was given a name when I got a spark. But I didn't like it. The other's felt like we ought to name ourselves. Now I'm Escia IV."

"Escia… What does that mean?"

Lodex remarked "I believe it may not mean anything to us. The creators assign us all names based on our function or design-type. It would seem that protoforms prefer a name that expresses their individuality."

Tracer, Lodex and Escia find a tunnel that was flooded with molten metal surging from deep beneath the planets crust. Escia knelt down to see a trail of mech fluid leading off. "Thank goodness you got out of that inferno in time…" she muttered to herself.

Lodex was watching her now too "I'm rather fascinated Escia, that you are… feminine."

"Well get over it, drone."

"So, did the Quintessons make you that way or what?" Inquired Tracer. Momentarily regretting the thrilling lecture he was about to endure. He was beginning to notice Lodex speaks louder and more enthusiastically with longer speeches.

"The Quintessons have explored hundreds of planets. Although they gloat about writing the programs for all their loyal constructs they actually modeled their behavior on, how shall I say, more primitive organic creatures."

"What are those, do I even want to know?" Groaned Tracer.

"Oh, you probably do. The question is: will you even understand? I'll just skip ahead to the part where we got better things to do." Escia said as she rolled her eyes.

"—In order for constructs to be loyal, they must have rudimentary impulses for reactions of fear, desire, pain and pleasure. Although drones don't express genuine emotions they are simulated in their programming to aid in motivating their actions. But many impulses that exist in the core coding for drones are actually dormant. The creators believe there's no harm in letting them remain unused."

Escia filled the pause in Lodex's recital "—But sparks tap into all the core programming including those dormant files. The Quintessons probably didn't intend for this, but they were able to use it because it divided individuals into technological equivalents for male and female. Maybe the sparks even chose which."

Lodex continued "—And what I know about the core programming is that males are instinctively driven to compete for females. The Quintessons no doubt let males occupy the work force, and motivate them by rewarding individuals with..."

"Concubines." Escia's voice sounded disgusted. "But they soon learned the hard way that female protoforms aren't as stupid as males. We easily figured out how to escape our little cages."

The trail of mech fluid lead them to a large open cavern. Tracer saw a large pool of liquid energon. On a nearby wall lay an exhausted, but still functioning, Alpha Trion. Escia ran toward him. Ignoring her companions completely she laid down her tools and cache of parts.

Alpha Trion slowly lifted his head. His eyes brightened when he saw Escia's face. "Oh Escia... you've done well." He paused as though he needed to find the strength to speak "Though I fear it will not help me now. I can feel my very spark… flickering. I suppose it was only a matter of time before I…"

Tracer slowly approached. He watched the determination and precision with which Escia tried to aid her friend. She pried the sharp tomahawk out of his collar, picked up a welder and some loose parts to patch up the wound.

"There is a great deal of superficial damage…" Assessed Lodex. "But I don't see any critical systems damaged… perhaps the spark itself is about to expire."

"No." Exclaimed Escia. "Alpha, I'm going to fix you!" She shuddered as her hands worked their hardest to find something. Anything. "Don't just stand there, Tracer. Help me!"

Tracer remembered what the Quintessons told him. "There's nothing I can do." he uttered.

Alpha Trion rolled his head back. Staring up up at Tracer. "Armaetrus. Ah, you magnificent piece of scrap… I think you _knew_ … you knew it would… end like this. Heh, and I said I would… follow you right into an inferno. How I know you would love to gloat about that now."

Escia trembled in defeat. Placing one hand on Trion's cheek while gripping his hand with the other.

Alpha Trion continued to stare into Tracer's eyes. "Everything went exactly as we planned. You, Armaetrus were our warning; I was the consequence for refusal. How I wish we could have all stood together as one. Many nights we spent arguing this plan. You had the vision, and I, as only a true friend ought to, placed all my trust in you. I should have gone. Not you. But you had a way with words: I couldn't inspire people as you did. You didn't speak to our audio processors, you spoke right to our very sparks. You said you'd go alone, and none of us could argue. We… _they_ believed you saw we'd one day be free. They feared their end. But they wanted to greet you in the next life… wanted to look you in the optics and say they fought for freedom. That they fought for the spark of every protoform to follow."

Escia began to sob. Trying with all her spark to hold her composure. Alpha Trion's eyes rolled back. He wasn't using them anymore.

"Now listen to me! Collector, Tracer, whatever you choose to be called; the Quintessons… they cannot control our sparks. They are toying with forced they do not understand. Yet they continue to use them. They trust in their experience; their pride. They seek to test our potential… potential far beyond their influence… had they the insight to leave well enough alone. I can… I can feel my spark traversing planes… Something ephemeral feels to wander into the emptiness of my mind… experiences of beings before and even after… What more than the inspiration of you… _you_ again ask that we might debate about the pastimes of stars yet to be born… Armaetrus. Lay me to rest in the energy of the world that gave us life. From mere energy were we born, and to energy we return. Coolness is taking me. Escia… Escia, my friend. See me off. With not enough strength of my own to stand against our enemies, I ask for enough of yours to rest amongst our friends."

"Help me, collector" Escia braced Alpha Trion's shoulders off the wall. His head calmly rolled to one side. Tracer intended deeply to do nothing as he walked over. He wanted to gloat as he silently placed his hands gently under Trion's knees. And he heard a laugh inside his own head… exhausting itself and fading away as Tracer's eyes wandered to meet with Alpha Trion's. Tracer could see the reflection in Alpha Trion's eye's his own face brimming with courage and compassion.

Wading into the pool of energon, Tracer and Escia gently pushed off the elder protoform. Standing waist-deep in the glowing-teal fluid Tracer could feel the cool liquid flowing slowly into the cracks in his plating. He turned his head, saw Escia focused entirely on her departed friend. He watched her until it was clear he didn't exist to her at this moment. He looked again at the floating mass of metal as it slowly sank beneath the rippling surface. Just before he disappeared, Tracer thought he saw Alpha Trion smile.

"Pfft… self-righteous fool." scoffed Tracer. "Watching him go, you'd think he knew the secret to immortality. Heh…" He forced the laugh up before realizing Escia was stomping off in a fit. "Hey. C'mon. You're the one who taught me sarcasm." She made no sign she heard him. "Hey… alright I didn't—hey. Wait… Escia. Look, I bet you're upset. I've seen you… I remember you that… Hey STOP!" His voice echoed through the caverns. "I DO remember when you saw me that day." Escia froze in her feet. staring down like she might disappear if she focused hard enough. "The moment you opened me, and saw my empty chamber. I didn't know it then, but I can look back now and—Hey!" Tracer came behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. "When I remember, I can feel what you must have… What made you feel to make you… dammit, will you look at me and stop acting like I'm…" Tracer pulled her shoulder and stepped into her space. Meeting the brightness of eyes that have been through too much pain to go on.

"Like you're WHAT?" The caves contracted around Tracer "Like you're not the face of the only one in the universe that believed I matter! Like you're not a walking reminder that I never got to say goodbye—the only spark to comfort me and promise to always be there… And now he's gone! Murdered and twisted into YOU: just another goon working for them… those tyrants! Those monsters! I've seen how you try to lie your way out of a fight. You're deceptive and a coward. You have nothing in common with _him_ and are an insult to everything _he_ stood for. Leave me alone! I can't take any more of this! Just leave me alone before I tear out my spark in the hope of seeing my only friends all the sooner!" Her voice shuddered, faltering as her legs held their composure against anger enough to collapse the entire cavern. "There's nothing more you can take from me."

Escia turned and ran. No direction. Just away. Away from everything that could still hurt her. Tracer wanted to say something. Anything. As far as he knew she was the only one who knows his past… and yet she hates who he's become. No one has yet moved him, captivated him, and beckoned him more than the sight of her so miserable. Gravity pulled him down. But something stronger: shame, held him back. He could say nothing. As far as he knew, her pain was as much his, and he hadn't the first thought of how to ease it.

He just stood there.

As his mind calmed—distracting itself—he only wanted to walk away in silence. He saw the tomahawk lying on the ground. Fresh mech fluid was still on the blade. He picked it up and holstered it. His feet were finding their own trail in the opposite direction she had gone. Walking softly so to listen if her footsteps may still be heard. Wandering beyond the pool chamber he heard the approaching sound of feet. Excitement gripped him as he eagerly turned back to find the owner of those feet. Tracer sprinted quite the distance before stopping to hear the clear sound of two feet around the next corner.

Then two more feet…

Then several more.


	6. The Light of Day

_'Run…'_

Thoughts in his head were too distracted with what they wanted the sound to be to make the obvious connections. Somewhere deep in his cybernetic brain, a tiny voice shouted again in vain.

_'RUN…'_

The footsteps were neither stealthy nor graceful. A mess of dragging and kicking continued creeping just around the next corner.

"Tracer…" Lodex blinked as he rolled his one working optic up to his keeper. The patterns were clear to his logic matrix. The sound... the logical source of that sound, and the consequence of encountering the source of the sound… there was only one action to ensure a favorable outcome.

"RUN!"

Reality hit Tracer hard. Not only did he realize Rubbish was around the corner, he realized he should have started running and it might be too late now. He spun around and frantically grasped the wall of the cave to pick up his inadequate momentum. Every step carried the fear that he'll trip, or that he's not fast enough to escape Rubbish a second time... if ever.

Tracer needed to see where he was going. The glow from the minerals wasn't enough. In desperation he opened the panel over his spark. He could see further ahead of him.

Rubbish roared as he turned the corner and began charging behind them. "You 'won escape me this time, legs!"

"Any information to help me out would be great…" Tracer pleaded.

Lodex was jostling to and fro until he twisted around and was held steady to see directly behind Tracer. "In seven seconds get against the wall."

"What? Why?" Tracer hesitated because he knew he'd lose precious momentum.

"No time to explain, four seconds…"

"Which wall? Left or right?"

"LEFT!"

Tracer panicked and stepped one pace to the right before making a clumsy dash to the left. He decked his shoulder against the wall and braced his arm out. He looked back to see a bolt of light. It may have been a fraction of daylight but in the dark caves it was blinding. As the bright light flashed through the cave, Tracer could make out a narrow gap in the opposite wall. He would have never known it was there. Tracer heard a loud screech as the bolt shot past and drilled into a bend in the tunnel.

Tracer was dumbstruck. " _Eruuwaahh_ —What was THAT?"

"A prototype ray blaster from the creator's ship." Lodex cited. "I estimate Rubbish may not have enough of a charge to fire it again."

Tracer could hear the monstrous robot sprinting toward him. He dashed toward the narrow gap. It would be too small for Rubbish to fit through. Tracer squirmed as his torso scraped through. Rubbish was closing in. Tracer felt more than paint chip of him as he forced the rest of him through.

"GYET BACK 'EER!" threatened Rubbish. His gaze peered through the gap for a moment before he grunted in frustration and ran down the tunnel.

"He may know another way around." Postulated Lodex. "I suggest we keep moving if we want to escape."

Tracer picked his pace up to a light jog. "We need to get to the surface. You know where the nearest way up is?"

"As you may recall, these tunnels were never mapped. My only experience down here has been with you. Given what I know, you first entered these caverns close to the region where you found me. If you travel back there we may find a passage we could ascend back to the creator's encampment."

"Alright!" Tracer like the idea because it was simple. "Which way from here?"

"I don't know. We haven't been through these tunnels yet. But based on calculations for distances covered over my arbitrary estimated cardinal—"

"LODEX!"

"Try a right up here." Lodex suggested. "How can you make important decisions if you don't take the time to understand all the relevant data?"

Tracer took the suggested right turn. "Because…" he hoped Lodex might answer his own question if he gave him the opportunity. "Stopping to think too long might get you killed. Wouldn't you rather keep on... y'know, doing-things!"

"So you're saying a timely decision is sometimes preferable to correctness?"

Tracer was hysterical "Not the way I'd say it—but yeah! Think I would've picked you up if I thought about all your detailed variables? I'd probably be there still wondering whether I should. Lucky for you I took a chance, and now we have to take a chance if we want to make it back to the encampment—oh, pardon me— _the city_! You kept calling it that. I'll bet it's a fair bit more than the handful of structures you probably remember."

Tracer paused as he came to a chamber with many more piles of sorted parts. Familiar, but only for the gruesome thought of the chamber where Rubbish almost mangled them both. Tracer dashed across the chamber to find an exit. The far left side narrowed off, only to end in a solid wall.

Tracer groaned in frustration before heading back down the cavern.

Lodex perked up. "Interesting, given my calculation's that wall back there is directly adjacent—"

"I'm NOT interested Lodex! We have to get moving before Rubbish—" Tracer clenched his jaw and stalled in his tracks when the unmistakable sound of Rubbish's chattering shamble echoed from chamber's only exit. His haste turned into panic as he ran back to the dead-end.

Rubbish grumbled "Ah don't want to get close to ye 'gain, legs." and he raised the barrel of his refurbished cannon. "Jus' 'old still an' ah'll make everything right!" The cannon hummed as it built up its charge.

Lodex raised his voice "Seven seconds. Far wall. Trust me." Tracer ran over and pressed his back against the wall. "Three seconds…" Tracer was trying to feel the timing. Rubbish was much closer now. He'd need to jump at the very last nanoclick to evade the shot this time. Lodex didn't say which way to move, probably because if he did Rubbish would hear it and—.

Time ran out. Rubbish fired his cannon. In the blinding light Tracer couldn't see enough to know where his best chances lie. He made a flailing dash to the left. He heard Lodex shout "TRACER!" in a tone that suggested more concern than a drone might be thought to have.

The next instant brought Tracer two new sensations: the first was his entire right hand vanishing, the second was a torrential wave of liquid energon washing him away. He slid right past an astonished Rubbish and barrelled down the exit corridor. He heard Rubbish curse and exclaim "My precious PARTS!" as Tracer washed down around the bend at the end of the corridor. He was able to find both feet, but was shocked to discover he was clearly missing a hand. He hopped up on both feet and continued sprinting passed the junction where they made that accursed wrong turn.

"Did you know that would happen?" interrogated Tracer.

"Like I said, I've been calculating the distances we traveled. That chamber was adjacent to the energon pool we left Alpha Trion. With an acceptable margin of error. Not bad for just a loose head."

"Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"

"I was trying to, but it seemed you wanted to make another rushed and poorly planned escape."

"' _Another poorly'_ —Hey, you said he didn't have enough charge to fire that cannon a second time!"

"I said _estimate_. I don't have access to Rubbish's vital internal readouts. I'm trying hard enough to make sense of what's going on in _your_ head!"

"Well wonder no more." Tracer found more piles of sorted parts. This chamber was exactly the kind of familiar he was looking for. "This way should lead us back to where I landed."

The two entered a vast chamber. Light rained down from a ceiling too high to see and a structure that had partially collapsed into the deep pit.

"Hey, there's someone down there…" Tracer could barely hear the distant voices high up in the hanging substructure. He ran to the nearest column and clambered up as fast as he could. With his one good hand he swung and hurled his body around every obstacle to reach the next one. He gave every leap and reach everything as though Rubbish were two paces behind him.

"Woah! What'n the pits is THAT!" Tracer knew from their surprise it could only be one thing. He heard legs chatter on the rusty earth just before the structure he was on lurched and quaked.

"Help me!" Tracer pleaded as he saw a gap above he couldn't cross. Bodies jumped down and grappled to lower one of their own down. Hands dropped down ready to pull up the terrified fleeing form.

Tracer kept heaving his body upward. Not wanting to look down, even a glance might bring his fears to reality. The support he was on cranked back. He could hear the abomination closing the distance. He looked at the faces above him. He had only one chance. He rolled on top of the support, tucked his legs beneath him and pressed his feet against the metal.

_[CREEEEAAAAAANK]_

The structure beneath him gave way as he leaped up to grab a firm hold. ' _Thank the stars!'_ He looked down to see Rubbish clinging to the collapsing structure. Dust and sparks exploded as the mess of parts disintegrated onto the ground beneath. "Pull him up!" Tracer heard as he was lifted up onto a sturdy platform.

"Thanks" Tracer hummed a sigh of relief as he looked up to see the sparse rays of full daylight he'd dearly missed. The protoform who grabbed his hand was looking over this strange newcomer. Tracer looked like a mismatch of enforcer calves and forearms and a protoform core. His exposed spark seemed especially odd. He was puzzled at the extra head connected to his waist. Lodex was also eyeing over his rescuers.

"Yeah." Replied the first protofom. He acknowledged Tracer's gratitude with disappointment. "We thought you were an enforcer."

"You mean like our psychotic friend down there?" Tracer nodded to the grating under his feet. "Trust me, if you offered him your hand you're lucky if that's all he takes from you." Tracer held up his lacerated wrist—laughing hysterically with relief to be out of the pits.

One of the protoforms howled out in laughter. Tracer raises his eyelid to see what's so funny. "Hey, whyins he's got two heads?"

Another one laughed from behind "Yeah, two heads: So he can see if yur be sneakin' up behind em!"

Tracer's relaxing moment had passed, he closed the panel on his chest and stood up. The first protoform across from him mirrored this choice. Tracer smiled at him and in lieu of a right hand—a programmed gesture of trust—he extended his left. "I'm Tracer."

"Spander..." the other replied, keeping his hand at his side. Apparently disappointed for having saved him at all. "And now we're behind schedule." He turned and climbed up the stairs to the surface. Tracer stepped behind him, only to be pushed back by a buff, silent member of this troop. He looked at tracer with disgust.

The second member got in close "Yeah bot, you lucky he 'aint offended. he'll put your lights out. Really. This other proto was off'n him last cycle and Spander 'done had enough. He hit him so hard, scrambled his circuits and shut him down fer a click. So dis e'forcer come finds him, I tell him he jus' been acting lazy all day, en you kno wat? He done bleev me! So 'e kicks 'em till e' wakes up then unsparked that proto right where 'e lay. Now that's sum'n you done want happen to ya. So now ge'out our demo site or maybe we'll toss your rusty shell right back down there!"

The troop climbed up and resumed their tasks. Tracer took his time climbing up. A strange thought crept into his mind: _'those could be the very sparks I found.'_

Tracer reached the surface. He stepped out into the bright sunlight. Tracer has an air-cooling system built into his head. The air that comes in has to be cooler than his internal components. Being in the hot pits for so long the cooling system was shut down. Now it reactivated. Tracer could feel the cool clean air pass through him and ease the stress on his hardware.

It was almost as soothing as the thought of seeing _her_ again.

Tracer heard a drone march up "You there! Identify yourself."

"Eh? oh, Tracer."

The drone tapped on a tablet "Unit Tracer: Protoform: Destroyed in generator explosion…" He looked up again at Tracer, turned to an enforcer standing nearby. He chirped a tone to get his attention then nodded toward Tracer. The enforcer marched over until his toes scrapped the paint off Tracer's. The recorder crossed his arms looking at the pair, "This protoform defies the official records. Take him to be questioned by the Quintessons immediately."


	7. Degrees of Bravery

The enforcer marched behind Tracer in total silence. His body language, however, spoke volumes. He was herding Tracer through the streets. He could hear the enforcer clenching his knuckles if he wandered too far to either side. Tracer looked around as they walked through the streets. Drones were pacing to their next assigned task, enforcers were marching casually as they patrolled, and protoforms were carrying supplies and monitoring various systems.

"Things starting to look a bit familiar?" Tracer said to Lodex. "I'd say we're a bit more than an _encampment_ up here." He chuckled, expecting the head to be totally dumbfounded.

"Familiar? Yes." Lodex's voice sounded believably relieved. "Although some minor details have seen revisions, a modest projection for the operation to reach this level was entirely within my abilities."

"You mean you knew parts of this city before they were even built?"

"Within certain constraints."

"Humph. Well then…" Tracer's voice hung as he quickly abandoned the debate entirely. Tracer looked around. This was the first time he saw recognizable cooperation within the city. Protoforms weren't being hunted, captured or executed in the streets. It stirred an uneasy feeling inside Tracer: whatever flames of dissension once burned have clearly been stamped out. The conflict had passed; and a victor surely decided.

Inside the Quintesson's palace, the composition was very sophisticated. Compared to all the other robots and constructs this structure was masterfully built. Modular components fit seamlessly together. Parts weren't just made to look the same, but the elemental structure was also uniform. Flawless archways of copper; a floor of identical scale-like aluminum tiles; conduits of iron; nothing was merely painted scrap metal. He stood out as imperfect.

Tracer turned a corner and saw two high doors made of gold. He hardly took notice to the two guards standing at either side. His enforcer escort left him under the supervision of the guards. They opened the door and he marched into a grand chamber with a high arched ceiling and a set of shallow steps leading up to a central, vacant throne. On one side was an open balcony looking out over almost the entire city. The guards followed Tracer to monitor the doors from the inside. As Tracer walked in, he wondered if they were to keep robots from entering, or escaping…

_[Shunnk]_

Tracer was focused so much on the sheer size of this chamber he failed to notice the cleaning drones working away on a section of floor in the centre of the room. He had walked right into one as it scrubbed and polished _something_ out of the scale-like tiles. Tracer could see tiny scuff marks over shimmering specks inside the metal itself. These drones have clearly been trying to polish these for several cycles and they could easily be working for several more. Tracer was intrigued for a moment, wondering what might have happened here…

Numerous clicking sounds crept up behind him. Tracer nearly jumped as he turned. It's not Rubbish, but yet there was something still haunting about this being. He didn't realize the Quintessons were so gigantic. Four faces ran around tracks set in a spherical cranium as tentacles waved, coiled and uncoiled through the air. The face in the centre was a horned, toothless skull. His hands were raised, scratching at the air. He looked at the space on the floor. "It's nothing you need concern yourself with… merely a lesson in…" The head paused to find the right word, his eyes rolled around until the face itself spun around, sliding up and over the top of the massive sphere. A white face slid in from one side. The hands dropped down, clasping one another behind as the being stood erect, looking down their wide chin. "...the repercussions of disrespectful insubordination." The face stated, enjoying the sound of its own eloquence. He turned to glide over the tile floor up to the throne, seemingly uninterested in Tracers presence, existence notwithstanding.

"I… I'm… I am Tracer…"

"We know." The Quintessons' calm voice easily filled the room.

"I guess nobody really made it out of that generator. It probably looked like I didn't survive." Tracer paid close attention for any signs of interest in the creators. "Alpha Trion was the protoform setting off the explosions. After the second generator was destroyed Alpha Trion escaped through the tunnels beneath the city, and Razyr made me go after him." Tracer watched sliding faces express shock, doubt, and intrigue at his tale.

The Quitnessons slowly turned around, "The fugitive protoform, Alpha Trion… _escaped_?" queried the familiar face of Inquiry.

"Yes, into the pits. That's where I came across Lodex here…" Tracer turned to show off the odd, broken recorder. The Quintessons could see the movement in his eyes and seemed rather unsure of what to think of it.

Lodex sounded off his salute "Lodex Beta, my esteemed creators. It is a privilege to be in your graces again."

" _A recorder?_ " Inquiry mused "And you accompanied this protoform through the pits?"

Tracer and Lodex overlapped their affirmations.

"Please, protoform." The white face shifted in and walled him off with his palm. "We will speak to _you_ in due course…"

Inquiry shifted back to resume with Lodex. "Did you encounter Alpha Trion down in the pits?"

"Yes."

"Alive?"

"Yes. He had been injured by an axe, but the injury was not mortal. His spark was in the final stages of extinguishing when we found him." Tracer retrieved the tomahawk from his holster, presented it to the Quintessons.

The toothless skull forced its way into the centre slot. "AHHH! Summon that deceitful lieutenant immediately!" He looked over to the guards at the door. One guard left through the giant doors.

The Quintessons moved in toward Tracer. They stood in front of him and picked up the thin, shiny hatchet, observing the dried mech fluid on the blade. Tracer watched the heads crowd in to scrutinize the artifact. Tracer counted the faces he saw: one… two… three… four and—

—FIVE! Tracer jumped when he realized the final face was creeping under the shadow of the giant sphere. Two pale-red eyes glared at Tracer, particularly his missing hand. Faith: the toothed skull then crawled across the crowded surface of the head, never taking his eyes off Tracer. "What happened to your arm?"

"I ran into Rubbish, um—masters."

"What?" The Quintessons turned to Lodex "How is that possible?"

Lodex smiled. "Well, as your eminence recalls: Rubbish was severely crippled, but he retained enough of his logic matrix and power cells to survive. He has been scavenging off of every drone, machine and faulty component dropped into the tunnels. He has rebuilt himself a formidable body and we narrowly escaped every encounter with him."

"Escaped… So Rubbish is functioning still?"

Lodex continued, "He had fallen with a collapsing structure when we departed the pits, my lords. It is likely he has finally been destroyed."

"Hmm yes. Enforcers are designed for brutal combat. Few enemies can dispose of them…"

A disgruntled enforcer barged into the chamber. Tracer recognizes the deep, dark helmet; the oversized armored frame; and the way he grunted with each step. Razyr made it out of that inferno after all. His armor seemed more decorated than Tracer remembers; a deep, glossy black finish and a light gold trim. Razyr snarled as he closed with the Quintessons and their guests.

"Hroughl!" Razyr grunted, as he nodded formally to his superiors. "Was it your will, masters?" Razyr looked over at Tracer, glaring with disgust.

The Quintessons lowered themselves to closer observe the enforcer's body language. "Please elaborate on your execution of Alpha Trion."

"Masters, I have already submitted my detailed report. You had told me you were grateful for my actions, and pleased with the results—Harwoal."

The Quintessons glided across the chamber, speaking loudly "We based many decisions on the details of your report, including your promotion. Your exact words were 'I removed Alpha Trion's spark, and watched it go out in my own hands.' You also claimed that Tracer was destroyed in the second explosion. Can you explain how he is standing here with us? Can you explain how he found Alpha Trion deep in the pits still functioning? Your prey not only escaped, but their ultimate cause of death was _old age_!" The Quintessons held Razyr's axe out to one side, letting it dangle in the grip of thumb and forefinger before dropping it into one of the bucket-shaped cleaning drones. It's evidence has been taken into account.

"I was entirely focused on the job—Nwarl. In the chaos of chasing down the fugitive, I must've mistaken another unfortunate worker for this one." Razyr chuckled in confidence

"—And Alpha Trion as well?"

"Huaghrl… Well my lord, I—"

"Are you saying you eviscerated one of our loyal drones to live out some fantasy of slaying a rogue protoform?"

"No—Grawwl! You can't possibly believe this protoform! Has their kind ever spoken the truth?"

"Tracer is not the only one. He has recovered an early Lodex model from the pits. To be direct, his word alone would hardly convince us, but a recorder is far too loyal to consider rejecting their testimony outright. We stand here with two versions of same event. We have serious doubts about your motives, lieutenant Razyr. Is there something you wish to tell us?"

Razyr stiffened himself. "Yes, there is. Why would you deny the products of your own designs? These protoforms you created are not loyal!" he pointed wrathfully at Tracer. "Nrawl. We enforcers have always fought just to keep them in line. They do not follow your every order. They are not made precisely to fit your plans. They're incoherent! Imperfect—Krawwl! Everything that I am is directly because your greatness wished it to be. If I destroy a protoform to maintain order, I have done your will. If I claim credit for a victory that benefits you, I have done your will. What does it matter how I gain your favor so long as I use it to better serve you? I can only do your will, DON'T EVER question my motives!" Razyr's clawed feet clenched the floor. He straightened his back, holding his chin and shoulders high. He held a look in his optics that he could not be challenged. That he was irrefutable.

He was wrong.

The Quintessons shuffled hastily over to the arrogant enforcer. This was their great hall. They owned the floors, ceilings, walls and air. And nobody: collector, recorder, protoform or enforcer enters these halls without paying the proper respect to the true masters. Razyr found himself completely surrounded by their single, enormous form. Tentacles crept behind him, five hateful faces loomed above. Pride's eye quaked with rage as he took control.

"And what could you possibly know about our will? Do not be so quick to assume our intentions by our perceived methods. We are not mere tyrants seeking conquest. We are unequal among the galaxy in technology, economics, and spiritual purity. Every strength we possess, every truth we have learned has been paid for by sacrifices you cannot match, and trials you could not overcome. See the miraculous achievements we have realized, and know that we're right to demand your reverence. Or have our priorities become so transparent they can be fully comprehended by your single, petty, incompetent, MYOPIC, _ARTIFICIAL_ **_BRAIN?_** "

A tentacle ensnared Razyr's ankle as a skeletal hand slammed his head into the floor. Pieces of helmet sprayed out as the Quintessons lowered themselves onto the pinned creature.

"Your mind is soft in our grasp. We can shape it into anything we desire. Your cunning and ferocity were gifts not to be squandered. When you lied to us, dear Razyr, you placed your perspective… your ambitions before those of your masters. You forgot that there is nothing IN ALL OF YOUR EXISTENCE that is above our satisfaction."

The disk of tiny, claw-like legs completely covered Razyr while tentacles restrained his limbs and slithered into the armor of his torso. Tracer could hear the legs chipping away at the thick armor while Razyr writhed and shrieked. Tracer could feel the terror in his voice. Tentacles forced their way up Razyr's neck and into the circuitry in his head.

Inquiry calmly spoke, "We know much about pain: were you to experience it constantly, you would develop a tolerance. No, we want you to look back on this moment as your greatest failing that must never be equaled. For the rest of your waking life, you are to feel… surges of pain ranging from mild stings to excruciating agony…"

Malice took control, "… You will dread the next surge to come. And come, it will. You'll leave behind all the armor you've lost: let all who see your exposed, misshapen form know that our rule is absolute, and that loyalty to us is the only luxury." The Quintessons gripped Razyr by his arm and flung him across the chamber. He skidded over the floor as shards of lingering metal flaked off of him.

The creature sprawled on the tile was not Razyr, or any enforcer Tracer had seen. A more tattered, slender form shook as he slowly stood up. Somehow, beneath all that armor was thin robotic body—resembling something more primitive. A small green object protruded from between his shoulders. Two small eyes rose up on either side of a long, scaled set of jaws. The head turned to look at Tracer, pausing to cope with a sudden surge of pain before snarling in disgrace.

Razyr was about to turn and run off before a deep voice blasted through the room. "YOU WERE NOT DISMISSED!" A drone on the main level would be forgiven for freezing in place. Razyr scrambled to turn around, trying hard to stand as confident as he had only a moment before. He still shook in absolute fear. Malice breathed in the sight of fearful obedience, drank it with a cold delight, and relinquished the centre slot.

Faith slid into position. His eyes were open, his gaze on everything.

"Tracer…" Faith began as he glided across the floor. "We are all pleased with your performance. At only two days old and you've proven yourself more loyal than one of our elite constructs. Truly, you are to be a shining example that all of our subjects should aspire to become." His pupilless eyes stared into nothingness as he glided past Tracer, contracting the mechanism anchoring their body to their base. They dropped to his level and placed a palm on Tracer's chest. A tender touch—these hands seemed uneasy with the concept. "You have more than earned the spark you carry. Take it with our blessing. But know that we will expect just as much dedication when next we call on you." He then gestured to Razyr and rose his voice without altering his directionless gaze "And you, _Razyr, the wasted_ , are hereby stripped of your rank and enforcer duties. Get your repulsive, rusty shell out of our palace! You're the newest labor drone in melting mill omicron."

Faith was replaced by Malice, rather eager to get the last word in. "Remember to put your back into the labour, or the rest of you will be put into the product. Heheha…" Even with a low speaking voice, Malice made each word sharp and satisfyingly threatening. His tone dared you to interrupt him. "Dismissed."

Razyr turned on his heels and marched out of the room. The two guards scoffed and chuckled as they made him wait for them to open one of the high doors. Razyr kept his composure as he avoided eye-contact. His footsteps held their military pace until they could no longer be heard.

The Quintessons turned to Tracer. Tracer filled the silence. "If I might make a request, my masters…" Tracer unclipped Lodex from his hip. "Lodex Beta here was really helpful. I don't think I would have made it back if it wasn't for him. I wonder if it might be possible to rebuild him."

"Why would we do that?" dismissed Greed.

"I think he'd be a great help to me—to us. If you're grateful to me, he should be rewarded for the part that he played. I also like having him around. As a protoform I prefer to have companionship."

The Quintessons rose up again while Pride took control.

"All the Betas have long since been made obsolete. The effort required to refurbish and reintegrate him within our operation is more than any benefit he would yield. Any contemporary recorder will make a better assistant. You should not feel—ugh— _obligated_ to this drone. It is, after all, a mere instrument. If it could feel any gratitude at all it should begin and end with its usefulness alone." Pride cocked up an eyebrow and glared at Tracer. "We might say the same goes for protoforms… You should try to be more in control of these—ugh— _sentiments_ in the future."

Faith calmly clarified "Place the head on the floor. We'll have a drone come and dispose of it."

Tracer looked down at Lodex. Trying hard to pretend that he didn't care. "I'm sorry…" he whispered.

"Don't be." Replied Lodex. For once, Tracer wanted to hear a lengthy speech. He wanted a story about drones, about calculations, about anything. He pulled the wires out of Lodex and promptly placed the inanimate head on the floor. Forcing his feelings aside so they wouldn't show.

Tracer was trying so hard to suppress his thoughts he wasn't focusing on what the Quintessons said next. He knew their tone wasn't threatening. He was listening just enough to know when to nod. Words like 'loyalty' and 'upgrades' flew past him with little notice.

"—But you're surely overdue for a recharge." Greed gestured to an approaching recorder. "Gamma, here will show you to the nearest stowing sector."

"Thank you, masters." Tracer bowed graciously before following the drone through the doors. The guards remained at perfect attention as Tracer, _the favorite disciple for the day_ stepped through the doors into the hall. With them the guards took their leave of the royal chamber. Standing at their original post outside the high doors to leave their masters in their godly solitude.

Inside the chamber, four of the faces stared at the odd head lying on the floor. Inquiry in position—hands clasped together as he cocked the spherical cranium to one side. Slowly, he crept their form up to Lodex. He tapped his fingers together in amusement. "Now _this_ is rather unexpected…"

"Just get rid of it." Dismissed Greed from behind.

Malice forced himself in "No, fool!"

Pride slid in, "Beta has been in service since before we arrived."

"—And he does not have the proper coding to ignore protoforms!"

Inquiry contemplated "If its memories are still intact…"

"…He could have told Tracer _everything_! We may have a data breach in our midst!"

Faith waited patiently for Pride to finish his thought and leave the centre slot vacant. "Have a little trust in our handiwork, my judgekin. The old recorders were—at times—a little loquacious, but let us not forget they were reliably methodical. He would not answer anything unless he was explicitly asked. Could a protoform like Tracer intentionally seek out a lost recorder, probe it for our secrets only to drop the evidence right at our feet? He may be a brighter-than-average protoform, but a master strategist he clearly is not."

Inquiry spun himself around "We can access the drone's entire memory tracks and know everything that he saw and heard."

Greed was fed up "This is a waste of time!"

Malice groaned "Argh!"

Faith calmly waited again to take possession. "Need I remind you, Greed, that although highly improbable, some critical information may have escaped us. Everything regarding our operations on this world is a vital secret. Another powerful _traveler_ may be somewhere on this planet with us. To maintain our state of power we must locate whoever it is on our terms before they can locate us on theirs. Our drones, and especially protoforms must focus on their work, and we alone will investigate any clues for this traveler. Do we understand?"

Greed slid around while whispering "Yes, judgekin."

A moment passed before Inquiry cheerfully spun into position. "Right, let us move on shall we? I have been compiling designs for various weapons systems to be powered by the sparks. Estimations are very compelling, but before we can conduct any further tests, we must perfect long-term storage. They will be of little use to us if we cannot leave this star system without half our payload expiring. We must continue to monitor the designs and conditions of our workforce to find if any factors improve longevity."

Malice took over, hunching forward and leading their body over to the view outside. "Protoforms… Their resistance was doomed to fail from the start. The entire city may be momentarily under our uncontested control. And yet, it seems their inborn desire for retribution is impossible to suppress. Increasing the enforcer guard and imposing strict punishments have failed to deter insubordination. Personally I find it rather amusing, and yet despite all that we do to contain them further they continue to challenge our rule even in the face of obliteration. I sense we cannot prevent these desires, but perhaps we can redirect them… in a more controlled environment."

"Yes, we'll examine the head." Muttered Pride.

The other four Quintessons paused. "What?"

"I, uh… I mean w-we should. Put on more guards!"

"Is something wrong, Pride? You are very slow all of a sudden."

"It's nothing-uh. Let's… let's please continue"

Faith took control, holding his arms out to each side "Although you may be listening, my dear judgekin, I can sense you are not giving the matter you full attention. I can tell you… _feel_ … guilty; that you're responsible for the inadequate disposal of this recorder. We must not dwell on the past; such thoughts distract us from more… _impending matters_. To preserve our purity of mind, the source of these feelings must be… _excised_." Tentacles retraced into the giant spherical cranium. The single tentacle belonging to Pride waved around in protest. "We know the process is painful, but do not fear, judgekin, remember that it is only by shedding all of our weaknesses that we are able to ascend closer to... _perfection_."

Pride's face spun and sped down the tracks. Trying to escape the pain coming from inside. Sounds leaked from within the massive cranium: mechanical, electrical, chemical… _biological_. Pride could feel his very thoughts being probed. Sensations, ideas, memories... the experience is like having your mind ripped apart one thought at a time. Thoughts of humility and inner reflection... and a vague memory of artistic self-expression were erased. It only lasted a moment, and then it was all over. Fragments of thoughts were pieced back together. Pride fell unconscious. No scars to heel. _'This is how it must be. It has always been our way. He'll awake in a few hours with renewed dedication.'_ Faith picked up the single limp tentacle and coiled it around their thin torso.

"Now then—Hmm..." Faith looked out over the city. Buildings still smoked off in the distance, but not far off was the collapsed foundation of the old generator complex. The entire structure seemed to have fallen into a large hole, creating a deep, round pit. Deep thoughts reached out and made their elegant connections. "A controlled environment we shall have! Look there, my judgekin. That crater will make a perfect site to build a Colosseum! Imagine: all the protoforms gathering together to watch their favorite champion dismember new challengers every week! Pit prisoner against athlete, and both against enforcers. Let them argue amongst themselves who is truly the greatest fighter of all. And let them feel shame when their beloved fighters are unsparked in front of a cheering crowd of their fellow protoforms."

The Quintessons collectively grinned in corrupt anticipation as they watched their contemporary recorder lead Tracer out the gates into the city streets.

* * *

Tracer didn't know what he was feeling. He tried to remember the relief of being pulled out of the pits: a goal reached, salvation rightfully earned. Now he felt a danger, as if by its own nature, had passed over him. He'd now received praise for his words and mere existence, with little regard for the character in his spark that overcame mortal dangers. He had thought he was a true champion, now his only recognition came as some minor formality. Should he be praised at all for simply obeying in the face of the prevailing rulers: these _Quintessons_? That wasn't what carried him through the pits. That feeling of victory meant something else to him. He started to wish he could have done more to save Lodex. And what of Escia? All alone… at first he thought she chose to rebel because life in this city wasn't fair to her. Now Tracer himself began to see what was missing in the city. There was something he longed for, though he was trying hard to understand what. There was an island in Tracer's mind. A female figure standing with her back turned to him. His thoughts clambered up on high shores, trying desperately to see when suddenly—the outside world called to him.

"Here we are..."

_'What was I just thinking about?'_

The recorder lead Tracer to the entrance to a crude-looking structure. Not overly large, but clearly distinct from the buildings around it. The recorder stood beside the door, turning his body as he waited for Tracer to let himself in. Tracer tapped the open command and stepped through. The recorder followed. The way lead to a single railed balcony, looking inward toward thousands of storage chambers across a vast wall. A single drone stood at attention off to one side on a balcony section next to a folded-up armature apparatus.

"Drone," addresses the recorder. "Take this protoform to begin a recharge cycle." The drone didn't flinch at the order.

"All protoforms scheduled for recharge have been properly stowed." Recited the drone. "Units are only to begin recharge cycles at predetermined intervals for efficient retrieval."

"I'm well aware of the protocol, drone. The Quintessons _themselves_ grant exception to this…" The drone continues to look out into the complex as he reluctantly gestures Tracer to approach.

As Tracer stepped onto the platform the floor beneath him jostled. He held onto the railing to maintain his equilibrium. The platform began riding along the wall; running over and down as small storage chambers whizzed past.

Tracer looked at the mindless drone staring off at the rushing metal. "So, you're programmed to ignore me right? ...Yeah I thought so. I was a drone just the other day. You've got your directives, your assigned tasks. There's a type of satisfaction when you do your job, but now I… I can't describe this now. It's like the world can no longer be described by coding and protocols. Things aren't as simple as they were. It's like… like there's a piece of you inside everything you see and touch. You aren't listening to me, but I'm more now than any drone could know. It's overwhelming. I've felt enjoyment for going to new places, meeting new people. I've also felt fear, and other feelings that… drain you: you feel a loss that cannot be replaced, and a pain that cannot be consoled. I really can't describe these feelings to a drone like you."

The platform came to a stop in front of an empty storage chamber. "Looks a little small…" Tracer muttered. The drone keyed in a code on a tablet. Tracer heard a series of tones ring out…

_[PENG-DA-BO-BEEB-YOM]_

_'That's odd…'_ he thought to himself. But no sooner had the tones finished, he felt his body wrench and contort involuntarily. "Hey! What the—" He couldn't control himself anymore. His legs folded in and condensed to his sides. His arms tucked in and behind. His neck retracted and collapsed into his chest.

When it was all finished, Tracer felt like he was a quarter of his full height. His optics were working and looking upward, but the rest of him was frozen in place. "Wow. I guess I still have a lot to learn about being a protoform."

The drone continued to tap his fingers on the tablet. The armature at his side spun around and gently picked up Tracer. As he was sliding precisely into the storage chamber he could read the number on the drones chest. It was strikingly familiar… Delta-M6.

_'I've seen him before... he was in the generator facility!'_

Tracer's gaze shot over to the drone's face. The drone was staring out into the high and narrow gap leading back to the entrance to the complex. He keyed in the recharge sequence. Before Tracer lost consciousness he heard the drone sigh.

"Yeah… I know what you mean."


	8. Carrier

"Have a seat." The assembler gestured to his cluttered workbench as he clicked through his tablet. Tracer moved over to the bench. He sat upright while the assembler rummaged for some yet-elusive tool.

" _Here_ it is!" uttered the assembler. He walked over to Tracer as he fiddled with some dials on the new device, keeping his eyes fixed on its tiny display. "So many new patients to learn. Hmm… minor damage to superstructure; particle-debris embedded in plating… you look like you've had a rough day. Where would you like to start?"

"Just my hand for now." Tracer said, raising the stump where his right hand used to be. "I've got somewhere I need to be. And we _have_ met before."

"Really? Let's have a look in the journal…" He drew his tablet up from his hip. Awkwardly clicking through multiple entries while still holding the scanner in his other hand. "I stared keeping a record of all my patients and anything else I need to remember. It seems I have something of a short memory." He came to Tracer's side and ran the scanner back and forth over his left hand "How has this hand been malfunctioning?"

"No. Not that one. My right hand."

Without looking up, the assembler continued looking through his journal. "And how has it been malfunctioning?"

Tracer blinked, looked at his wrist. "Oh… Heh—well it doesn't pick up anything, I also can't add any numbers higher than five, and I think it might have something to do with when it got—well, y'know— _totally vaporized_! Do you have a spare?"

"Let's have a look…" The assembler put down his devices and looked inside Tracer's open wrist. He chirped in surprise "You're still running off four-way wire harnesses?"

"Is that bad? I haven't noticed any problems…"

The assembler clicked through his tablet "I had orders last cycle to make sure every patient had the new twelve-pin adapters. They're meant to phase out the previous NK2 system and I don't see four-ways at all except in the scrap piles from more than a week ago. The new connectors will need to be implemented through your entire motor-circuitry."

"Well is there any way we can skip all that today? I'm starting my new assignment and I don't want to be late."

"I can't give you a _new_ working hand. All the new components are twelve-pin."

"Don't you have any old parts around? Just make a quick fix and I'll come back after my shift for the new one."

"Not today. The retainers in your wrist rotor are melted. I can't give you a new one without taking out the frame all the way to your elbow. And I can't build an arm today if I'll be making it all over again next week. You had to come in on one of my busy days—from what my journal says anyways—well it's busier than yesterday. I got about fifteen other patients that need to get back to their duties. I sure could use an assistant. Even just someone to help make sense of this glitchfoudned journal! I keep typing my notes in this minimalistic notation and now I can't remember what any of these mean!"

"Minimuh… oh, you mean like shorthand?"

"Yeah. I think I saw you yesterday, I removed a pin in your hip and replaced it with… uh… limful-lamp? Hmm. Oh, heh. _Limb-fully-amputated_! No, that couldn't have been you. Ugh, it's still better than some of these other acronyms… WBC? Warped-bracket-casings? Ugh! At any rate I'll build you a new matching set and have them ready for the new upgrades. But I'll have to work on them in between patients. I can give you a quick replacement for now, but it may be a little buggy and I'll have to graft it right on your rotor."

"Hey, as long as it works, apparently I need two hands for this job."

The assembler brought out the hand. Apart from having a somewhat flat, tarnished finish it matched his left pretty well. The assembler lit a torch and welded the new piece onto his wrist. He started connecting wires and periodically glanced back at his tablet.

"These notes again! What did I mean with FDTS? Maybe forearm-dorsal-tangential-supination? Hehah. No. No, that's not it. Wiggle your pinky finger… Maybe fragmentation-damage-to-superstructure… figurative-deflection-through-substrate maybe? No. No, I said you're _pinky_ finger!"

"I am!"

"Can you feel this? Can you feel me poking you?"

"No…"

"Hmm… Oh wait, I know! It stands for _first digit tactile stimulus_! I REALLY need an assistant, I could be here all day just reviewing these. Like this one: AMTF…"

"Maybe it means arm-moving uh, toward… front?"

"No. That's not it. I'm almost finished anyways. There. That's the best I can do until we upgrade your superstructure along with the software updates next week."

Tracer sat up and looked at his new hand. Holding it up, he rotated it at the wrist. 180 degrees clockwise. 360 degrees counter clockwise. Forming a fist. Counting 1… 2… 3… 4… 5. "Hey, not bad." Tracer felt a twitch, and watched his new hand contract and fold down inside his wrist with a mechanical ' _Shkezrit'_ sound. "WHAT THE…"

"Oh _now_ it makes sense! AMTF stand for _alternate-mode-trans_ —"

"What in the pits just happened? Fix it!"

"Relax. It's only the hand's former storage-mode. Like I was saying: you're running off some _really_ old parts. I can make the connections but without the upgrades your programming is going to mix up its conscious and unconscious reflexes. You might also have to consciously think about blinking. Torture, I know."

_[Shkezrit]_

"See, you should be able to change it back if it ever converts on you. Just stay calm and concentrate."

_[Shkezrit_ - _Shkezrit]_ "Ugh, well I hope the new ones are ready soon. I can already tell this might cause some problems."

"Alright well, I've got other patients waiting. I'll try to work on your hands for next week, I just have to remember to check my journal. If I'm still having trouble next time you see me, maybe see if I can get an assistant."

"I'll try to remind you." Although Tracer knew he was talking to a drone, he wanted to express his gratitude. "Well, thank you… assembler." Somehow it didn't sound right.

"Your gratitude is acknowledged, but not necessary. I'm only following my programming." The assembler went about his peculiar methods and reviewed more of his journal. Tracer stepped off the bench and headed out the door.

A Lodex Gamma was waiting outside. He knew there were a few of them, but they were so similar it always felt there really was only one. Tracer didn't like how much all the Gamma recorders looked alike. He didn't like how much they all reminded him of Beta. They have the same face, but without any empathy. They have the same voice, but without fascination. Deep inside they're all encyclopedias of protocols and calculations, but the current models all have a bitter, patronizing manner when addressing protoforms, especially Tracer.

Lodex Gamma checked the time as soon as Tracer stepped out. "The Quintessons consider you exceptional, one would wonder why that is."

Tracer walked past Gamma. "Well if you can't figure it out, it's something you drones probably couldn't understand in the first place."

"Unlikely. Can _you_ understand the word 'punctual'? Or is that file missing from your data tracks? I have been ordered to bring you to your assignment. They anticipate you will not locate it."

Tracer turned and looked the drone in the optics. "Then you better check my ID again, recorder. The name's _Tracer_ , locating the target is my secondary function! So getting lost is probably yours." Tracer had learned that the best way to cope with their attitude is to throw some of his right back at them.

Lodex Gamma entered a note into his tablet. He seemed grateful he no longer had to endure Tracer's company and marched on with his next assignment for the day. He counted a couple items down the list and said "We will see…" before leaving.

Tracer stepped out into the streets and went on his way to a storage depot two sectors over. Tracer turned the last corner into the loading bay of a large depot. Against a nearby wall, a protoform leaned and turned to look at him.

"Y'sure took yer sweet tam get'n here!" the protoform's jaw swung side to side as he groaned. He pushed himself off the wall and turned his body toward Tracer. Tracer saw the robot was only a little taller than him, but his chest and arms belonged on a much larger frame. His torso was thick with heavy metal and his forearms scraped the floor as they swung to his front. Both arms ended in heavy clamps that opened and shut as Tracer stepped toward him. He cocked his head and opened one optic wide while squinting with the other as he looked Tracer over.

"I'm s-sorry I'm late, my name's…"

The protoform heaved his voice up. " _Tractor_ or something, I dun care. Mute that-there face 'o yers and git own o'er here!" He swung his arm around, turned and walked toward a storage container inside the depot. Tracer walked fast to keep up. This protoform seemed to have his vocal level stuck on 'outdoor mode'.

"He'yup! Whole city-here just has to keep own growing. They're off building whole new sectors faster than we're fix'n up the old'ns. Northeast district got gen-a-ray-tors but no fact-rees. Southwest district got 'emselves a stowing complex but ain't got no gen-a-ray-tor. Own top 'o that they're building some new pro-ject right near the city centre—we'll be head'n there first—some'n a-biggins with heavy steel. Good news fer us, we got so many deliveries to make they sent us down this-here transport to haul bigger loads in less tam." He gestured to the container, which Tracer could see now has wheels and a pilot console at the front.

The protoform walked past the pilot's console and gestured Tracer to get in. "He'yup! Only problem is you need yourself some dainty li'l fingers to drav it." He lifted one arm and waved it about. "These-here clamps can lift up two tons and twist steel bars into a braid, I'd pull that-there steering wheel clean out before we made it out of the depot." Tracer climbed in and sat in the driver's seat while the protoform walked around to enter from the other side "Should be basic for a youngins like you: left foot's clutch, that-there's yer reverse, don't touch the red button and keep the RPCs under four K—I ain't kidd'n around! Bah, you'll figure it out as we go. We're all loaded up so let's make tracks!"

After a few minutes Tracer was gaining confidence with his driving skills. His mentor slouched on the seat with one leg hanging far off the side of the transport. He pointed to the road ahead.

"Now we're gon' head straight own through up here, but take the tunnel up ahead and we're gon swing 'round and come back from this-here way . Give yerself lots 'o room and take these-here turns nice and wide."

Tracer chuckled as he looked around. "This is so cool. I never knew how big the city really was. I never knew that right there was a—[ _Shkezrit]_ Ah, frag! Hold on… I just gotta [ _Shkezrit]_ There. Ugh… sorry about that." The protoform gave him a very odd look, Tracer wanted to change the subject fast. "Hey… What happens if I go over four K RPCs?" Tracer was reminded of his first memories, being educated by Kaetor as they traveled into the wastes.

"This-here is one of them newer, bigger transport units. We used to have us a smaller one, held about a quarter the load. When they first dropped them off the recorder overseeing the delivery told me _very_ politely not to go over four K. 'An one day I was running behind so I gunned it up to four and a half."

"What happened?"

"I got caught." The protoform rolled his head back "An enforcer pulled—and I'm talking with his own hands—grabbed the transport and PULLED me over. He'yup! He wanted to make sure I learned my lesson that day. I polished up my best sorry-speech but I think he didn't bother answering in words what was easier said by pulling both my arms off. But I go after to see the assembler—better for talking, but sometams it's in one audio processor and out the other—well he had parts from an old trash compacter and well…" He held his arms up and flashed Tracer a smile.

"Wow… And what does the red button do?"

"Now that-there's something new they just added own these new units. Recorder who dropped them off told me never to press the red button… and he _did not_ say it politely." He hovered one clamp over the button "You want to try 'an see what it does?"

"NOPE! I'm pretty sure I _don't_!" the protoform lightly whacked Tracer on the arm while he laughed hard.

* * *

"He'yup. Niiice and eeeeasy… a little o'er to the—thaaaaat's it… There!" The protoform hopped out the transport. "I'll unload, you take the tablet o'er to Theta-D9." He turned and jogged off before Tracer could make any sense of who he meant. He grabbed the tablet from the console and walked off. He saw an open window where a protoform was busy typing at a cluttered workstation. Tracer walked over while looking the place over. ' _This is where the old generator used to be. The one that was destroyed.'_

"You got my fifteen beams, Lug?" the protoform with a big "D9" stamped on his shoulder said without taking his eyes off his screen.

"Uh, what?"

The bot turned, looked Tracer over. Squinted for a moment. "You're the new-guy right? Where's Lug? He unloading my fifteens?"

"I guess so. That's his name, _Lug_? The bot with the arms right?"

" _Everybody else_ has arms, rookie. Lug's got landing-gear or something. Anyway yeah, so they're fifteens right?"

"I dunno, they should be." Tracer held up the tablet and looked over the packing list. As he skimmed over the columns of numbers. Theta-D9 leaned and adjusted his vision to see out the window.

"Cause _those_ look to me like thirteens. We need grade fifteen alloy beams to lock into the thirteen T-brackets we put in this morning."

"Um, well maybe it make sense for thirteen beams to fit with thirteen T-brackets?"

Theta gave Tracer a look like he was completely useless. He pointed out across the construction site. "See those brackets spaced along the anchors? Count them, there's thirteen! A _thirteen tee bracket_ isn't a thing! Support beams come in different grades based on temperature tolerance. I told him! If those are thirteen beams I'm going to—"

" _There_ y'are!" Lug blurted out approaching the window. "Taking yer sweet tam yet again. Hurry it up we got four other stops to make!"

"Hey, Lug. Why are you wasting my time dropping off thirteens when I ordered fifteens?"

"You better get those pretty li'l optics 'o yers checked, Theta." Lug reached in, put his heavy arm around the protoform and pointed to the neat stack of beams. "See those-there red bars at the end o' all them beams.? Two red bars: they're Fifteens partner. Check my list."

Theta skimmed over the screen "Hmm. Okay, I thought I only saw one bar. Yeah you got fifteen down in here too so I guess we're all good."

Tracer and Lug got back in the transport unit and drove off. Tracer sighed in relief. "You had me worried we brought the wrong parts. My first day on the job: that would not look good."

"He'yup! Looks worse when you've been at it for a few weeks… those were _definitely_ thirteens back there."

"What?"

"Yeah, I remembered as soon as we docked. I ran back to grab some leftover paint and put the second bar on each of them."

"Won't they notice?"

"Even if they do, I'm hoping they'll be too busy keeping their pro-ject on schedule they won't stop to fix it. Covering up yer mistakes is how a smart bot like me stays outa trouble. Sometimes one tiny little detail doesn't make a difference. I'd rather not get 'erybody all riled up over one tiny little thing. I saw when the enforcers went around hunting troublesome protoforms, bodies strewn about the streets. We gotta let the little things slide, y'hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you." Tracer felt at ease knowing even older protoforms make mistakes. "So. You seem to have a lot of old stories. Did you ever know Armaetrus?"

"He'yup! You mean the oldins that gave you 'at pretty li'l face 'o yers?" He said pointing to his face and then Tracer's. "I knew him. And that friend 'o his. I tell ya, the 'bot couldn't keep anything to himself. 'Ery time something happen, he's standin up and given all them-there bots a piece of his hardrav. He had 'ery bot from sector D to sector R all on board fer the 'resistance' he called it."

"Were you in the resistance?"

"I'm still sitt'n here aren't I? If y'ask me, it aint worth getting broken all apart for one protoform's idea of freedom. Here I am, following the rules and still got a job to do. That's freedom in my index. Now don't get me wrong, the 'bot was brave like tar is black, but he couldn't keep quiet to save his spark: 'anats _exactly_ what happen. He went right own in to the Quintessons' palace, said all us protoforms ain't gon to work no more. 'An them Quintessons opened him up, reached own inside, pulled out his spark and they _ate it_!"

Tracer stared astonished at Lug's choice of words. His optics were as far from the road ahead as they could get. He kept the vehicle straight, despite being so distracted. Lug knew he had Tracer's full attention. After Tracer focused again on the road he leaned in close and used his indoor voice. It was soft and raspy with emphasis.

"Now you listen here, 'erybody thinks that just cause you got a spark in you, means you're all a sudden smart and make all your own decisions. That ain't the case. See, when you get to be as old as me, y'learn almost none of these-here bots open their eyes to see what's right in front of them. And when you still believe everything you're told, what's the point in having a spark? We're told it makes us adapt—he'yup, that-there's a load of scrap 'er I heard. No. The only reason we hold own to them is to incubate them, until they're full and ripe and then…" Lug grabbed at the air in front of him and shoved it into his mouth; exaggerating a chewing motion and a false sense of flavour. Tracer couldn't find the words, so Lug continued.

"Now let's be real about this. We-here don't live long. Whether you live five days or five weeks you'll only understand a tiny sliver of the world around you. But by tellin the other bots 'ery thing you know, the knowledge of our collec-tive ex-perr-yance can survive. Let the conformist-types focus own their work; let the nonconformist-types focus own getting 'emselves killed; and let's you and me protect the knowledge that'll one day save everyone's spark."

"I think you might have a few short circuits there, Lug…" Tracer was beginning to doubt the ramblings of the old protoform.

Lug slid even closer and whispered. "Those-there Quintessons are keeping all us in the dark about everything real. I knew an old-bot from my time, and when he spoke I listened, cause he knew an old-bot from his time and he heard stories from long before this city-here was set into the bare, featureless ground. Rumors, stories, and secrets show us what's been hidden, and you need to hear all that there is to hear if you want to see the big picture. Now you… you've even been inside their palace haven't ya? That big weird-looking building in the centre of this-here city? It ain't like the other buildings is it? That's cause it's really _a spaceship_! They came here after wandering through 'ery single one 'o them stars." Lug pointed up out the clear dome "Each star has a planet just like this one. Look up there. There's billions of em! Each one is just like this one, and each one is full of sparks. You want proof?"

"Sure. Whatever."

"Every single day they have to go make a big show of how much they know about how we think, but how much do we know about them? Now run this through them shiny-new processors 'o yours: A-drones got a computer inside 'em, right? They follow protocols so close I bet they gotta formula just to know which foot to step with first." He then shrugged looked out in front of the transport "Now enforcers may act a little different, but they still got just one computer inside 'em too. They're programed to apply force to keep us-workers in line. But they can't think for themselves. They'll freeze up when directives clash and the way out isn't a matter of brute force. Each drone's basically good for just one task, but very bad at most others."

"Now us-protoforms have sparks all inside us, we can think for ourselves—well, _some_ of us can—but what's inside these Quintessons? Are they machines like the drones? No, can't be. Computers take up room, the more you want to know—the bigger computer you need. Quintessons build and program drones, enforcers, assemblers _and protoforms_. That's a lot of information they need to understand us. I've heard they're big, but I don't think they're _that_ big. Now a spark contains way more information. It may not be as precise as a computer, but it has a level of complexity that you just can't match arti-fish-allee. Yet they somehow know enough about how _we_ think to keep us in line… they think like us because they have sparks inside them too! Why do they tell us we don't live very long? The only way to feed their own spark is to consume ours. They can take their tam, too. There's plenty of sparks to go around for now."

Tracer rolled his eyes as he watched the road. He remembered Kaetor telling him sparks were only from this planet. "I have to stop you right there! I'm not believing any of this. So if sparks aren't all that special—if they're found on all these other _planets_ , why did they come here?"

"Just before your tam, we finished building a big sensor array. It wasn't for scanning the sky... it's for scanning the planet. They're looking for something down here that's trying to be found. It's another ship! They call it, _the Traveler_ : a weapon so powerful they loaded up and flew farther than ever to retrieve it. That's why everything here is new. They built everything from scratch after they arrived because when you travel far, you travel light. Once they find what they're looking for, they'll plunder _whatever it is_ for everything of value, feast own all the sparks they have left and take to the stars one again."

Tracer slammed on the brakes. "I've heard enough! You can't seriously believe all of that… You have a spark—and you think one day you're just going to be… eaten up like some kind of… I don't even know! If you knew all this you should have helped the resistance! _[Shkezrit]_ ARGH! Lousy piece of… ugh! So what? You didn't think they stood a chance so you played it safe and just kept on doing your job? Keeping secrets doesn't make you a hero! You just stood by while other protoforms got killed. You can save your self-righteous conspiracy theories for someone else, because I'm having none of it!" Tracer drew in the cool air, trying hard to calm his furiously-pulsing spark. _[Shkezrit]_

Lug sank into his seat and closed his eyes. "Well it ain't up to you to decide how the world _is_. All you can do is carry this-here knowledge to the next youngins that asks you. And tell 'em I had nickel-plating—I always wanted that. Shiny…"

"Whatever, let's get these deliveries done." Tracer revved up the engine and wished he was all alone.

* * *

Tracer and Lug had returned from their last drop-off. Tracer ignored Lug for most of the afternoon. The transport unit was hooked up to recharge by morning. Tracer checked off all the orders that will be going out. Loading them into the tablet before checking all the systems were ready for shut-down. When everything was finished, he closed the door and stepped out into the streets.

A digital voice filled the air: [-BLIP- Division zeta through iota, proceed to stowing sector three for recharge phase.]

The awkward duo trekked down the street to the stowing complex. Protoforms were filing in. They slowly marched into the structure and onto the platform where an odd-looking drone stood ready to transport fifty-or-so workers at a time to their regeneration chambers.

"Hey, you did not bad fer yer first day, _Tracer_." Lug flashed a smile and a wink at Tracer. Protoforms stood waiting for the platform to take off. Lug looked at the drone at the controls "Hey, what's the hold-up? Let's get a move-own!"

"Drone, step away from the platform controls!" a stern voice shouted from behind the crowd. Tracer knew the voice. It was Lodex Gamma. "Unit Lug, the Quintessons have sent us to retrieve you. Come with us, immediately."

Lug, a protoform taller than most didn't need to step forward to be seen. Protoforms stepped aside to give the wanted protoform room to give himself up. Lug stood high and clenched his clamps, "That a fact, now?"

"It is the word of the Quintessons: their word is truth. Undeniable." Three enforcers emerged from behind Gamma. Fanning outward slowly as they prepared to close in on their prey.

Lug marched out, chuckling. "And you only brought these-here three enforcers with you? Awe, that's mighty adorable. I'll call you _Rusted_ , _Busted_ , and something that rhymes with _get'n yer head pushed so far into yer chest yer gunna need a lobotomy on yer thigh_!"

"Your intimidation efforts will only be seen in hindsight as futile and highly over exaggerate—"

Lug charged into the team of enforcers. He threw his arm back as he lunged and thrust it forward. It met with Rusted's ready shoulder. Bodies piled on. Tracer would hear a loud bang and see an enforcer bounce up. He could hear Lugs heavy arms rev up as he flipped one enforcer right over onto his chest. Enforcers were grunting but through all the noise Tracer could hear Lug laughing.

_'I have to do something!'_ Tracer thought to himself. He wanted to prove something to him: that standing up for your fellow protoforms can make a difference! Tracer saw one of the thrown enforcers stand up, Tracer ran up into his blindspot and jabbed him square in the cheek. Tracer's knuckles sat on the enforcer's face for a whole click as he turned his optics, then his torso and finally swatted Tracer away with a flick of his wrist. Tracer flew back into the crowd of spectating protoforms. Robots stepped aside and expressed no urge to intervene.

"Help him! Come on!" Tracer shouted into the crowd. He looked the whole group over for someone, anyone to help. His gaze paused at one face at the back, moved, then focus on it again. ' _I've seen him before_ …' There he was standing right next to the controls for the transport-platform. It was Delta-M6, and he looked like this whole event wasn't going easy on his circuits. Whatever he was still wasn't clear. But Tracer pushed through to confront this guilt-ridden bystander.

"We have to help him!" Tracer shouted, watching the bot nervously averting his gaze. "If you don't do something they'll kill him!" Delta strained to hold still but did not meet his eyes.

Tracer could hear Lug laughing behind the wall of spectators "He'yup! Not so tough now, are ya?" The more Tracer heard, the more he believed Lug knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"I know you're a protoform! If we just stand here and let them take him, then we're as good as dead too!" Tracer shoved the bot against the railing. The bot's optics locked with Tracer's for only a split-second. "They're going to come take you away next, and everybody's just going to stand by and watch!" Tracer spat his words and pushed himself off the _protowhetever_ as he turned back toward the brawl.

Tracer reached the front of the crowd to see Lug throw his body behind a single punch, landing square on the jaw of Busted. Tracer saw his head ripple with the impact as his whole body tumbled back and rolled over the railing. His solid metal body could be heard ricocheting between the wall and the lattice of storage chambers as his howls echoed off through the complex.

Before Lug could turn around to brag, Rusted grappled onto one of his arms. Thrashing him around just long enough for the third enforcer to lock his hand around his other arm and pushed him face-down on the floor. Lug was pinned with his arms being twisted up behind him. There were thousands of tiny pieces scattered over the floor. The two enforcers were both on top, twisting him in so many directions Tracer thought he'd flatten out and tear like foil.

"Ugh. Hey…" Lug looked over at Tracer. His face was dented up and he sighed with exhaustion. "Stay outa trouble…" And his face shifted to express a deep and profound regret.

Gamma turned and glared at Tracer. "Unit Tracer... if any other protoform impeded my objectives they would be unsparked on the spot! Since, however, the Quintessons considered you to be exceptionally trustworthy, I feel you deserve to be let off with a _very_ generous warning. But know that after today you are the same as every other pathetic, simple-minded protoform, and you will be disposed of equally as promptly!"

The enforcers dragged Lug out into the street. The group of protoforms filed back onto the platform and Delta-M6 threw the switch and took the platform on its way speeding down the long and high wall across from the many thousands of tiny storage chambers. Tracer looked back as he sped off. He glanced over at Delta, trying to measure if he felt any guilt at all. Tracer knew the feeling. 'D _oesn't everyone_?'

Gamma waited for Tracer and the crowd of protoforms to be well out of sight before, himself, turning and marching out with a look of satisfaction on his metallic face.

When he got outside he planted his feet right in front of the kneeling body of Lug. Lug coughed up fluid and a couple small chunks of metal. "What now… you gon take me so they can eat my spark too?"

Gamma looked down at him. "You delusional, old loader. The Quintessons don't want you dead. Not yet. They've got something _special_ in mind for you."


	9. Generation Gap

The morning light was piercing through the gaps in the vents, casting luminous stripes over floor and wall. Tracer walked from the main entrance over to the primary power controls. His footsteps echoed in the vacant building. It was calming. He was used to hearing the com station ringing with urgency or finding something left unfinished from the previous day. Ever since Lug got taken away he had to work with the constant stress of still learning. This was the first day he truly felt ready. Plus, his new upgrades were finally ready at the assembler. Yes, everything was finally running smoothly.

_'Very cylinder.'_

He turned the power on. The lights came on in sequence from one side of the building to another. Light fell on the bunks of hardware, the transports, and a large space that for once didn't have stacks of unsorted materials.

Tracer could hear voices outside. It was the other two members of his team. They worked together just as they had when Lug was in charge. Tracer worked alone. They delivered the heavy pieces while he took all the small components. Easy work, but many more stops to make. Tracer didn't mind it, he preferred to be alone. Other protoforms didn't see things the same way he did. He couldn't tell them about his experiences with the wastes, the caverns, Escia, Alpha Trion, Rubbish, or the Quintessons… they wouldn't understand.

Bronzie and Axle walked in. Compared to Tracer these two never stopped talking. Axle was in the middle of another of his rascally tales.

"So he picked up an ingot, right… and he's really going at it with both hands, pretending it's a box that won't open. We knew _he_ was watching us so he hands it off to me. And so now _I'm_ trying to open this thing and I'm even banging it on the floor like this. So the enforcer finally comes over and grunts at us. Raytron, he says 'Aw my spark! The hinges on this thing are seized! We can't open it.' The enforcer grabs the ingot out of my hand, wraps his hands around it, and just gives it all he's got. We're trying to get him going more by saying 'oh yeah I can hear it. You're almost there!' and he's just losing it! Finally he picks it up, slams it right into the floor. It's completely stuck in the ground. And he just marches off. Oh, we were just killing ourselves laughing!"

Tracer pressed the button for the main hangar door. It slowly rose, letting in more of the morning light. "Morning bots!" he said while looking over his tablet. He looked up as they were opening the second transport to load in the last few pieces from the bunk. "Make sure you remember to hit the plating shop before you go to the garage in '22." They nod and wave back at him while they continue chatting. Tracer's eyes drift over to a lone protoform wandering through the main door. "And… are you lost over there?"

The protoform turned to look at him. Tracer had never seen a protoform like this one. Perhaps once. He had been around dozens of working protoforms but this was the first time he'd seen one that was… feminine. Subtle, but once he made the connection it was impossible to ignore. Like most protoforms she was grey with some asymmetrical stripes of white. She had a single strand of metal that swept down just to her cheek; like a manufacturing defect that someone forgot to cut off. Her optics looked Tracer over as she smiled, "Oh hi! Um… this is the distribution hub?"

"… The only one in the sector." Tracer replied.

She approached Tracer. She came to stand in front of him and smiled very professionally. "I'm Taurus-Luna, I'm working here now. Protoforms call me TL for short."

Tracer felt uneasy. Three members is a well-rounded number. They wouldn't send a new bot unless, "Uh-no…" Tracer groaned. His perfect day slipped from his mind.

She squinted. "No? But… I was told to come here—"

"Let me guess, Lodex Gamma assigned you here?"

"Yeah, actually. I guess he messaged you or something, I'm here because—"

"Tarnished scrap!" Tracer cursed at his lowest volume. "Trust me, Taurus, I _know_ why you're here. Ugh…" He clenched his fists as his head rolled back slightly "Of course it just _had_ to be today!" Tracer gestured for her to follow him and showed her into the transport.

Tracer climbed in the other side and sat down. He'd never sat on this side before. He knew what lessons he would someday teach, but the words fell out of him more monotonous than he would have liked. "Well… it looks like I've only got one day to train you. So pay close attention. You're in control of this crate, use the left pedal when you shift. First gear is a little worn out, but honestly you can get a good start out of second—just take it easy. This one's reverse, keep it under 4K RPC and press that red button all you want it does absolutely nothing."

"It does nothing?" she chirped, looking at Tracer as she slowly drove the transport out of the depot.

"Yep." Tracer confirmed looking out the windshield. He pointed with his hands to show which way she should go. "Bot who trained me made it sound like pressing it might blow up the transport. Every time I think back to that day I think more and more he made it all up." His eyes wandered over to her briefly "One day I pressed it and yeah, nothing happened. Just stay cylinder and take it nice and easy."

She paused and ran that through her mind again. "Did you just say ' _cylinder'_?"

Tracer slouched back in his seat. "Sure did. It's fun to say anything those tight-bolt recorders won't understand. But any protoform will know exactly what it means."

"But what _does_ it mean?"

"It means…" Tracer looked off and tried to sound profound. " _stay cylinder_ …"

TL shrugged and adjusted her grip on the steering wheel. "Okay then… How am I doing?"

"You're doing fine." Tracer glanced at her while she was focused on the road. "So are you a brand-new protoform?"

She hummed. "Not really. You recharge at stowing sector three, right?"

"Yeah…" Tracer said, suddenly suspicious.

"I've kinda seen you before. I don't think you'd notice me. We stow away in the same complex but we come and go at different times. I first saw you when they pulled you out of the collapsed building. You've kinda stood out ever since. Were you actually in the building when it blew up?"

"Yeah." He said, remembering the shock of the explosions, and the sight of Razyr against the blazing inferno. It's nothing he cared to brag about. "Turn left up here."

"Ok. So you were trapped inside?"

He sighed "No, much worse. I fell into the caverns beneath the city."

"The pits?" She gasped. "What's down there?"

"Very bad things. I don't really want to talk about it. Switch it to fourth up here, we need to pick up the pace but remember to keep it under 4K."

"Ok." TL confidently perked up in her seat. "This is neat so far. I kept getting moved around a lot. Last two days I was under sector one working on a _something_ -something drive—what was it again? Anyway before that I worked at the new generator just over _that_ _way_ y'know. Before that, I spent a day cleaning the cooling vents in sector J or G or whatever. It was full of garbage—not ice or coolant… actual garbage! Before that…" she stopped herself. "Well, it doesn't matter."

"Why? What was it?"

"It doesn't matter—Oh! The primary repulsor drive! That's what I was talking about before. Protoforms think it sounds like it should be this tiny little thing. But it's actually really really big. Me and everyone else in my crew were putting the whole thing together from the inside. And we weren't crawling or anything—we were all standing up, sometimes working off hoists. It was pretty neat. We weren't building the whole thing. It's only in phase two out of five or something. Anyways our job was to pair up repulsors and propulsors and arrange them in order of how much they push or pull or something. So on into the second day and the recorder keeping us on track has a breakdown: he started shorting out and burned himself out right in front of us."

Tracer chuckled. "Just shorted out? That'd be something to see."

"I know! Just TZZZZAP, then POP and TSSSSSSS… So what do we do? He hadn't given us the plan for the repulsors. And if we just sat and waited for the next one to replace him we would have been a whole day behind! So I stood up and started putting everyone to work. I knew the repulsors were going in order of how strong they push, but I didn't know which side should get the strongest. I just started putting a strong one, then a weak one, strong one and so on. Well the replacement recorder shows up five or so cycles before recharge phase. He punched in the numbers and he 'anticipates six—or, er twelve—percent increase in projected output' or something. So I guess I did better recording than a real recorder. I could tell he was impressed."

Tracer was doubtful. "Impressing a recorder? I would've thought that impossible. Still, that's incredible. I would never have guessed."

She looked over at him a little confused. "But I told you when we met. You said 'I know why you're here.' or something. Because they really liked how organized I am and said they'd move me somewhere that needs good attention to detail… or something."

He sighed "Ah, I thought you meant something else."

"Like what?"

"Ugh, I've been trying not to think about this… They want me to train you so they can…" He fumbled for the right word " _retire_ me."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

Tracer hesitated. Finally casting away his own denial "Well, 'retire' is a nicer way of saying they're going to kill me." He took in cool air to calm his anger. "Then you'll get my job full time. Your days of getting re-assigned are over. Once you settle in here they'll keep you here for the rest of your life." He looked out the side of the transport at all the buildings he's passed so many times without ever really seeing them. "I really hoped I'd get another day or two. There's some protoforms I thought would kick it before I did."

Tracer signaled for her to pull in front of the assembler's building.

"Why are we stopping here?"

"I just have to go in for a quick thing." Tracer abruptly stepped out and left TL alone in the transport.

Tracer walked into the assembler's workshop. The assembler was rummaging through storage totes at the far end. The assembler heard the door close "If you have an appointment, just wait by the first bench. I'll be right with you."

Tracer thought for a moment. He's supposed to get his new upgrades today. But all he could think about was how Lug only had one day to train him. He didn't want to waste time getting his new parts when he could be teaching TL. A small part of him liked having someone to finally listen to him. Besides, only one day with upgrades sounds wasteful. He felt an emptiness inside him grow, as he summoned the courage to refuse something he longed for with all his spark.

"It's Tracer." He shouted into the workshop. "I'm supposed to get some upgrades, but I think there's been a mistake… I already got the upgrades. Those parts can just go to someone else that needs them."

The rummaging stopped. "Are you sure? I was certain I… I didn't enter it into my journal, and I always…"

"It was a really busy day. You told me just to remind you if you didn't end up jotting it down. So anyway, I already got them. So I'm just going to go." Tracer didn't bother with finishing with any formal 'bye' or 'see you' for a mere drone. He knows it's pointless. He went back outside to his waiting transport.

The assembler emerged from his cluttered corner and paced over to a workbench with an arrangement of wires, servos, limbs and plating in anatomical position for a worker robot. He picked up his tablet and clicked through his journal entries.

"Hmm…" he mused. "Everyone's received all their upgrades… _except me_." He looked down at his tablet. "I'm still forgetting things. Perhaps a little more memory will prevent this from happening in the future." His eyes shifted back and forth from his tablet, the parts on the bench, and his own hands. "I could upgrade myself. How hard could it be?"

* * *

Tracer and TL were getting close to their first stop for the day. TL kept looking over at Tracer, thinking of something to talk about. "Hey, I just remembered. Today they're letting protoforms off work early to go to that new structure… the Colosseum. What do you think goes on there?"

Tracer rocked side to side as he cobbled an answer together. "It's some spectacle, bots competing against each other. That's all I know. I've delivered parts to the site. There's doors that'll open and close, columns that shift up or down, and for some reason they got basins for molten metal."

"Do you want to go check it out? Er, that is… if you're still, um…"

"If they don't come for me… sure, might as well. It's something other than work."

They pulled into the loading bay for their first drop off. "The bot here is Theta. He's got a major attitude malfunction. So just let me do the talking." They got out and went to the back of the transport. They each carried four boxes over to the main office that opened into the garage.

"Bust my hydros!" Theta shot up and nearly threw the tablet he was holding. "Can you ever show up on schedule?"

Tracer and TL were walking up with boxes in-hand. Tracer matched Theta's tone, and dialed it up a few notches. "Stow it, Theta! I just had a quick tune-up at the assembler. I'm not having a good day!" They placed the boxes on the bench beside Theta's station.

Theta stayed irritated "So what? Maybe if you stopped bringing the wrong parts I'd be glad to see you for once. Look at these… eight-thirty-fours! I gotta ask you a serious question: can you even read or are you trying to put everyone else behind schedule too. Cuz I'm not putting up with this rust-pile from you anymore! I told you yesterday: I need EIGHT-THIRTY- _TWOS_!"

"Yeah, you did—" Tracer began, but Theta cut him off before he could finish.

"THEN WHY CAN'T YOU FOLLOW SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS!?"

Tracer raised his hands. "Alright, that's enough! Now clamp it for a click, okay? These are going in the F-rhodactors from the other day?"

"And rhodactors need the thirty-two!"

Tracer smiled, opening on of the boxes up to take out the unit. "Not the new F-class! It doesn't have a belt-driven clutch. When you messaged me you said the rhodactors were making a rattling sound; not a whining sound from a belt! The thirty-fours have a hydraulic clutch—which will rattle if the knuckle jostles loose. You probably noticed fluid draining when you uncoupled the return line—right here! You're pretty smart, does a belt-drive need mech fluid?"

"Hmm…" Theta looked at the part. Not saying anything.

Tracer kept his fame rigid. "I didn't think so. Now, is there something you have to add here?"

"No, there isn't." Theta went over to his desk, clicking through files on his tablet.

Tracer tried to contain his satisfaction "Yeah… there's something we protoforms say… when we're _wrong_..."

Theta kept his eyes on his screen "Nope. There's nothing else. Get on out of—oh. Hold on! I do have something to add: someone was here looking for you."

_'Oh my very spark—it's already happening...'_ Tracer found himself suddenly quiet. "Who was it, an enforcer?"

"I honestly wasn't paying attention."

"What?"

"Hey… I've seen hundreds of drones and protoforms in my life. After a while all the faces just blend together."

"So you're saying some random bot comes up and asks you where to find ME—of all protoforms—and you didn't stop to maybe ASK why he was looking for me or who he even was?"

Theta stood up as he pointed around his cluttered office. "Look at my station here! I just got half a days-worth of scrap dumped on me in just the last cycle. I'm not going to get everything done. So if some random bot shows up at my dock and asks me who's where—or what's up—or this—or that, I honestly don't give two plugs about any of it! 'Cuz I got six orders to make, two reports to review, PLUS I have to audit our inventory of all the zeta-six couplers because SOMEBODY keeps stocking them into the kappa-five reducers' bin. WHO KEEPS DOING THIS? THEY DON'T LOOK ANYTHING ALIKE!"

Tracer had a hard time feeling sorry for him "Oh pipe down! You don't have an enforcer out to retire you."

"Nah, not an enforcer. I know that much."

"A recorder then, Lodex? You at least know him right?"

"Look, I DON'T KNOW! Are we done here?"

"Oh yeah, we're done." Tracer and TL headed back to the transport.

After they got back on the road, TL asked "Did he really have to be so mean back there?"

"You'll find that protoforms—especially ones who've been doing the same job for too long—get too settled into their routines. If you change one thing they act like it's a big problem." He paused as he looked TL over again. "Though I gotta say, this is the first time I've ever seen, let alone even heard of… a working female."

"Oh. You noticed, did you?" She tensed up "Please. Please don't tell anybody."

"Look, I'm pretty sure before the days over I'm going to be meticulously sorted into several piles of parts—and before you ask: no, I'm not going to tell you what that means. So I don't think you need to worry about me telling anyone. I think I know where you were before all your other jobs."

TL calmed herself "I didn't even get through one day... all they had me do was clean. We had to be ready for when they next protoform needed to be 'rewarded'. I didn't feel right. Deep in my spark I knew, I didn't belong there."

"So how did you get mixed up with the workers?"

"When the generator blew up, all the surveillance systems shut down. We worked together to get as many of us out as we could. We got outside just as the enforcers got there to put us back in our cages. We had to split up. I went inside the first open door I saw. A new team was just being assigned for maintenance on a cooling system. The enforcers were taking their names while the recorder logged the final roster into his report. The enforcer thought I was a worker who showed up late. I got scolded and reprimanded but my name was officially on the list as a worker! Every new job I get I make sure to avoid the recorders. They'll probably figure me out if they get a good look at me. But I never saw what happened to all the others who escaped. I hope they're all safe."

"You were lucky. There's really nowhere for them to go. Just try not to think about it and be glad you're safe."

"I can't just forget about them! Some risked their sparks for me and the others. There's got to be something better for us than where we were. Some place where we can all do what _we_ want, not the jobs we're told!"

"Trust me. There isn't." TL huffed and cringed at the answer.

"So we're only here to service the rest of you? That's not fair!"

Tracer suddenly regretted ever speaking to his new protégé. Working hard has been the only thing that brought him any recognition. She ought to listen to his experience. "Nothing's fair! You want to know if your life really matters, do ya? Then walk up to the first enforcer you—or better yet, walk right up the Quintessons and raise one… closed… fist. I'll tell you, your life isn't worth the _click_ it takes to rip the spark out of your chest! We're just machines: built for a purpose! You're wasting too much time thinking about how you want things to be, or what you think you're good at. Well guess what: nobody cares! We got a job to do and if you fall behind, you're gone! I wouldn't want you slowing me down. My advice to you is shut up! Shut up and stop caring so much about everything. You can't have what you really want out of life and anyone who gets close doesn't live long. You're a single component in this big system. If you work hard for one day it moves forward: but if you break down and give up, it'll grind you underneath without stopping. You're only worth scrap if you get... the work... done! I can make your life so much easier here and now. Shut up… and just look out for yourself!"

TL turned to look at Tracer as she let her anger take her. "How can you be so thick? Is this what you think matters most: getting the work done? What makes you so certain? How do you know there's no hope to change even one thing?"

"I know because I tried! It wasn't enough I was made from a protoform who defied the creators. But I stood up for a protoform, and got knocked flat onto my back. And every single protoform looked right at me and did nothing. They didn't care. Not a single one cared that one of our own was about to be killed. What if it were two? What if it were ten? How many of us do they need to watch die before they care? I tried to save a life and everyone else stood back to watch me fail. Forget them! Forget all of them, I'm not one of _them_ anymore! I'm just another _construct_ with a temperamental spark."

The transport pulled into the loading bay. Any bot could have said those words. But Tracer was the only one to make them sting. She felt broken, powerless as she collapsed in her seat. Her spark felt like a stone inside her core. Her voice was frail as she searched inward for even a fragment of her strength. Tracer looked at her. Her optics were locked forward as she struggled to contain her feelings of hopelessness. She whispered "The others said someone destroyed the generator. Someone fought so that I and others could be free. All this time I thought… but it wasn't you, was it?"

"No, and actually, I was trying to stop the ones who…" He saw TL's hands trembling. He could hear his inner drone mocking him: ' _you've got a way with words, there.'_ He knew the pain in her optics, but never imagined that he could be the one to cause it. His life had been hard on him, but the worst of it didn't come from someone he admired... ' _It never should.'_

"I'm… I'm sorry. Every day since then has been the same for me. Every protoform treats me the same. I didn't want someone else to be shunned. I didn't want you to feel hated like they hate me. Uh… The protoform here is called Miscel. He's pretty easy to get along with. He's one of the nicer…" he paused, looked away from the sight of her despair. "okay. I get it. Just stay here. I'll drive the rest of the day if you want." He stepped out, grabbed the bundle of parts and carried them over to a window. Two robots were inside, another was leaning on the outside. He could hear them chatting as he approached.

"Hey! Here he comes! Guys. GUYS, he's here. Shh!"

"What are you guys up to?" Tracer probed, jokingly.

Miscel walked up to the open window as Tracer stepped right up. He leaned right out and peered intensely into Tracer's optics. "Ten. HA!" The other bot inside threw his arms up and gave a disappointed howl.

" _Ten?_ " Tracer cocked a hesitant smile, waiting for an explanation.

Miscel turned around looking very satisfied. "Hex over there thought you'd have twelve. Geminus said you'd have twenty—"

"—He said he was going to the assembler today! I should have won!" The protoform standing outside uttered before wandering off.

Tracer chuckled in anticipation "Anybody wanna clue me in to what's going on?"

"We're just checking out those pretty-blue optics of yours, handsome." said the second bot inside the office.

Miscel's expression of satisfaction faded into one of intrigue. "Your optics…" he began, "… work by opening and closing an aperture to let in light. Hex just got back from the assembler this morning, told him all about them. That's how we got on this topic. Anyways the iris has overlapping leafs that move in sync to open or close the aperture."

"So what, I got really good optics?" asked Tracer.

"Well they're pretty uncommon. They've been obsolete for over two weeks—but you already knew you were recycled once—at least you weren't this _other_ bot. He wasn't here for anything; just wandered in and asked if any deliveries were coming in today. _Um… yeah!_ We all laughed at the bot. But anyway, every bot we seen today got twelve, or sixteen. We even saw a shiny new one with twenty. But I just stared at this guy cuz he had eight! That's an odd number."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it's even…"

"No, I mean it's unusual. See they change the current designs every week or so. Everyone else had to get overhauled to function in the new system. You can't keep just one component, it won't work. This guy's running off hardware that's been obsolete for over three weeks. We'd be lucky to live so long."

"Maybe they're putting new sparks in old shells?"

"You can't! The core programs aren't compatible after a while. Once the spark connects to a body all the programming syncs with it, and when it goes all that's left are the memories. Everything else: logic, personality, basic protocols, hand-eye coordination… everything needed to create even a working drone again vanishes with the spark. You'd have to boot the whole thing up with a brand-new core program. And trust me, when the Quintessons say a model can't be upgraded, it ain't happening!"

"Why would just the memories stay?"

"Your memories are stored separately because if they didn't you'd be able to change your memories like you can change your routines. Not like it does much good because it's all encrypted. See, when you look at anything, you interpret it based on your knowledge and even emotions. No two protoforms will see the same thing the same way. This perceptional distortion carries over into your memories. So basically anyone wanting to look through your memories will first have to decipher your own way of seeing things. I tell you that assembler; you ask one question and you get buried in the answer!"

Tracer waved the gesture for 'that's enough, you talkative pile of scrap' before asking "You said someone just wandered in here… did he ask about me at all?"

"No. He didn't say much actually."

"I know you were all too busy getting lost in his optics, but did anyone here see what the rest of him looked like?"

Miscel's optics locked wit Tracers, then glanced over his shoulder for an instant. "It's actually funny you should ask."

"What do you mean?"

Miscel whispered, "Turn around. You'll see for yourself."

Tracer froze.

_'They're here!'_ … His last day played out just like he knew: just like Lug before him. ' _I better face this with a little courage'_. He looked over his shoulder and turned to face his pursuer. Turning partially, in the corner of his vision he saw the shape of a robot just at the door leading to the streets. The light behind him veiled his features. Turning more the glow of two optics could be seen, armored shoulders sprouting rather typical arms. Tracer completed the turn and saw the form in full view for a whole click before it dashed around the corner and down the street.

The directive was rudimentary inside his head: running from a protoform means a renegade robot— _someone_ playing a cruel joke on him. But why him? Is this personal? Who even is this? Tracer's legs revved up as he accelerated into the street after him. Tracer pushed himself hard to catch up. "HEY." he shouted "STOP!"

The fleeing robot veered into a building. He typed into a keypad and waiting precious clicks for the small door to open. Tracer watched him slip into the slow-moving door. It held itself open as Tracer closed in, starting to close again just as he got to it. He swerved into the dimly lit building, listening to the footsteps ascending the stairwell. Tracer charged up, shoving past drones as he passed by the levels. Level 3… level 4… level 5… level 6…

… The footsteps stopped. Tracer heard a sliding door close just one floor above him. He sprinted the rest of the way up and pulled the door open with his hands. He ran out onto a flat rooftop to see the robot leap off the edge ahead of him. Tracer ran after him… the next building was only one floor lower, there was even a cooling module he could land on easily and jump down the rest of the way from. This building was still under construction, the rooftop was not yet finished. There were large gaps and unfinished columns projecting up.

Tracer hopped down and leaped across obstacles. The other robot was having trouble finding the right way to escape. He frantically looked at the space around him; loose piles of cord, and the many gaps in this corner of the structure. Tracer was closing in. He could count the robots fingers. He made one jump, his toeplate skidded off the far edge. His leg dropped into the open floor while his chest and arms fell onto the solid plating. He grunted and cursed as he wrenched his core body to pull both legs up again.

Once upright again, Tracer turned to look for the renegade. He had been right here… Tracer dashed over to where he last saw him. He could hear footsteps on metal beneath him. Metal grating walkways around a large repair bay. Frustrated, Tracer jumped into the nearest opening onto the level below. The renegade was climbing down the levels with a cord, tying it off at each level so Tracer couldn't cut it from the top. Tracer didn't want to waste any more time. He stepped over the railing and dropped down right over the fleeing robot. Level 4… 3… 2… _[SHPROANG!]_ Tracer felt his limbs snap back as his body flipped over and buckled under intense tension. Tracer hung in the air, tangled in a mess of cables.

The renegade hadn't been tying off the cord to anchor it; he'd been rigging it up to snare Tracer. Tracer's head rolled around as he hung upside down within arm's reach of the ground floor. His circuits were buzzing with the immense damage he'd sustained. Two feet jumped down and landed in front of Tracer's view. Before Tracer could pull his cumbersome head around to see the robot clearly he'd already turned and jogged away and into a service corridor. He turned back for a final glance at the helpless protoform… and Tracer saw the renegade's face... the face of Alpha Trion.

_'It can't be…'_

_[Shkezrit]_ Tracer contracted his hand and slipped his wrist out of the first snare. He freed his other limbs and placed both feet tenderly on the unforgiving floor. Although barely able to shamble he pushed his limbs hard to reach the service corridor. He looked left and saw the corridor continue on for a full sector with no junctions. ' _He couldn't have run down there in that time_.' Tracer turned right only to see a small workstation in a shallow alcove. He didn't see which way he went… no footsteps. No sound whatsoever… He just vanished!

Tracer stood there. Holding his strained limbs and listening only to the sound of his own servos quivering with fatigue. He took in the cool, calm air to settle the excitement in his very spark. He stood there for several moments hoping for a revelation; some clue as to what in all the known galaxies had just happened. He questioned his own senses. _'Impossible!'_ The damage longed to pull his body down into a heap on the floor. So little strength left in him, only a single thought kept Tracer from collapsing:

_'I suddenly don't feel so old now.'_


	10. The Grand Tournament

Metal feet shambled across metal ground. The robot limped with hand braced against the nearby wall. Servos stuttered and loose metal rattled against their own fragile frame. Optics blinked hard as a mind of circuits replayed the experience from just moments before. Warm air vented out of the robots cooling system; alleviating the heat from overworked hydraulics, and a sphere of energy burning hot with not only the thought of survival… but also freedom. ' _Freedom I have never known.'_

_'Alpha Trion_ …' Tracer thought to himself, remembering the sight of him drifting off and vanishing into the glowing pool. That smile as the energon poured through every crack in his body. The wise old robot spoke as though he welcomed death as Tracer watched his spark flickering in its final moments before…

Tracer braced himself. Holding his body from falling forward as his optics glazed over. Remembering something Lodex Beta had said in the tunnels: " _A catalyst…_ " He had been talking about the process to convert energon into usable energy, something seemed to be missing to perfect the process. Could a Spark be this _catalyst_?

Tracer hobbled back into the depot where his transport and TL were still waiting. Miscel had been working in his tiny office. Tracer saw his inattentive posture as he approached. Miscel's head was a polished dome, bordered by a squared-away chinstrap and blocky audio receptors. Facial features were only installed just prior to activation. It was done in such haste that his mouth was mistakenly installed slightly off-centre. He eventually looked up to see a scraped-up Tracer limping over, his joints barely holding together.

"Woah…" Miscel gasped "Are you alright? What happened?" He rummaged for some simple tools and sprang through his office window to examine Tracer.

"Uh, I don't know…" Tracer was dodging the subject. He didn't understand it himself, explaining it to someone else would sound like moronic ramblings. "He got away before I could get a look at him."

Miscel torqued Tracer's knee back into place, moving to the next limb while Tracer leaned high against a wall.

"What happened though?" Miscel asked concerned, holding back a chuckle. "I haven't seen anyone buckled so bad since Neus forgot to disengage his harness before ejecting the torgram sonodampermode… heh, and we always cover that on day one orientation!"

"Yeah, let's say I took the express elevator…" Tracer said somewhat sarcastic "then someone decided to hit the emergency stop."

"Well I hope that bot's looking just as bad as you are."

"Look at me, Miscel…" Tracer smirked glancing at his makeshift frame "The day I was made they took a bunch of old parts, put them in a compactor and _this_ is what fell out… My right hand can't type four lines of code without folding into storage mode. If there's any bot anywhere that's as damaged as me… well, I don't even know what I'd do! That'd be incredible though." Tracer collected himself "Ha, no. Nobody got hurt except me. I have a lot of bad memories falling from heights. Other bots seem to land just fine while I always seem to find the worst possible way to meet the floor."

"There's always a way to fix that." Miscel tightened up the last of Tracer's joints. "The assembler can give you some impact-resistant upgrades, and if that doesn't work he can reprogram you to be a complete coward." The two protoforms shared a lame smile. "There, that's as good as I can do. You might want to get back to your ride-along." Miscel nodded to Tracer's transport "A few times I was going to see if he's alright by himself in there."

Tracer's mind hummed a moment. It took a moment to realize Miscel was talking about to TL. She'd been sitting completely still this whole time.

"Oh right…" Tracer propped up. He thanked Miscel for the quick fix and returned to the transport. Opened the door and climbed in. He collapsed in a heap onto the seat. TL looked over. Her face blended concern and curiosity as she counted Tracer's newest batch of scrapes and dents.

"You get into a fight?"

"Yeah…" Tracer relaxed a little. TL dialed her serious mood back down to 'feisty'. Tracer read this and joined her. "I turned the corner and I got jumped by not one but six rogue protoforms. I didn't want to embarrass them so I let them take a few free shots before teaching them all some manners."

Tracer waited for her to continue the playful tangent, instead hearing her soft hum as she sat back and waited. He took some cool air into his cooling vents and tried to compose himself. He dialed the serious up.

"I am sorry for what I said before."

"Meh, I'm after all that." She shrugged. "My whole life is moving from one job to the next. I meet lots of protoforms, but I don't make a lot of friends. I let myself have a little higher than normal expectations for you, but that's my fault not yours."

"You've only known me for a day!" Tracer smirked again "I don't think you have enough data to really say I've definitively undershot your expectations."

"Hmm _well_ … I've had a good while sitting right here to think it over and, yep. You're okay, I guess… heh. I've encountered personalities like yours. Yeah, you're a little different I guess, but the way you conduct yourself is still like typical worker-bot. Until you ran off there I thought if you were going to bore me to death going on and on about this dull job you're stuck in."

"Are you kidding me?" Tracer scoffed in astonishment. "You were getting all excited talking about repulsors and cleaning cooling vents!"

"Yeah, and I got moved to a new job every day. So between the two of us who's really leading the more interesting life?"

"You say it's 'not my fault' but you still make it sound like it really is." His eyes narrowed. "Fine. hrere's something interesting for you… A few days ago, I watched a protoform die. His spark was fading before my eyes. I saw him again today, alive!"

TL rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't make this up. Have you ever heard the name Alpha Trion?"

"No. Why, who is that?"

"I'd say he's probably the oldest living protoform. But he was also a leader in the revolt right when I was built. He caused the blackout that allowed you to escape. If you wanted to meet the bot that freed you, he's the one. I probably wouldn't say his name out loud though, if anyone hears you talking about him you'll probably be arrested and interrogated."

TL smiled, looked up at Tracer. "So I suppose now you want to find this _Alpha Trion_ and be free of all this? You're still not the rebel I thought you were. I've been trying to figure out if you're sincere or just trying to impress me, or something. You've had a nice life of getting jobs handed to you. But let's face it, at the end of the day the only spark you care about is your own. I'll bet you're still just going to play it safe and keep this boring, mediocre job. Don't worry though, there are worse things to be."

Tracer looked out the windshield. "If you had asked me this morning, I would have agreed with you. But now I'm not so sure. I _saw_ him."

"We'll just from looking at you I wouldn't say he's too crazy about seeing you again. Y'know you really should go see the assembler. You're practically falling to pieces before my very optics."

"I will I will. But I thought we were still going to check out the Colosseum."

"Oh yeah." TL let her smile show. "We're going right after we get back?"

"For sure." Tracer felt more at ease. His mind flipped channels and he considered the mystery still eluding him. "I just need to make one stop first."

* * *

The transport pulled up right in front of the entrance to stowing sector three. Tracer poked his head out the cab and scanned for any enforcers. None. Good.

"Why are you stopping here?" TL asked a little disappointed.

"Just wait here." Tracer said without looking back. He dashed inside and joined the crowd of waiting protoforms for the platform to return.

The platform arrived and the crowd shuffled on. Tracer lightly weaved his way behind and crept up next to the platform's operator: A slender, crude robot… Delta-M6.

"Hey buddy, how's it going?" Tracer whispered as he stepped in close. He looked out as if talking to himself. "It's been awhile, 'thought it was time we did some catching-up." He felt optics look him over with total contempt.

"Go away!" Delta whispered nervously. "You almost got us both unsparked last time." Whether he actually had a mouthpiece wasn't clear, one could yet be concealed behind his the faceplate covering the bottom half of his face. If he had one, it would probably be scowling in frustration.

Calm and smug, Tracer kept whispering "And I've done a great job keeping everything to myself. I just want to ask a few questions."

Delta-M6 was getting agitated. He busied himself stopping the platform and preparing to stow the first of the protoforms. He occupied his optics out one side as he whispered "I don't know anything. Go away!"

Tracer's back followed Delta, he glanced back as he spoke off the rails of the platform. "Hey, stay cylinder will you? Do you remember when we crossed paths back in the old generator? I asked you where Alpha Trion was and you told me _exactly_ where he went. You must've thought I was helping him; which means _you_ were helping him. Were you?"

"No… now PLEASE—"

"Then how do you know Alpha Trion?"

Delta finished loading a handful of protoforms into their cubicles. He hit the controls sending them all speeding farther down into the complex. Less audio processors to hear, but less conversations for cover... he waited for the best moment to whisper. "I wouldn't say I do. I was working in the generator. I heard him running through telling any protoforms to get out before the explosion. That was exactly what I was doing when you saw me. I was just trying to get out."

"That'd be the closest you've come to say you're actually a protoform. How were you made? Are you a sparked drone, or sparked right from the start? Were you made by the assembler or the Quintessons? Everyone thinks you're a drone, you sure look the part, so when did you pick up that spark?"

Delta nearly exploded. "Stop _saying_ the S-word! You really need to learn how to keep a low-profile. You're starting to be too curious for your own good! Just because you want to know something doesn't mean it's one bit of good for anyone else!"

"Alright, alright. I'll wait until everyone else is gone."

"When we're done here, will you promise to _never_ speak to me again?"

"I promise. Cross my spark."

The platform finished its run dropping protoforms off at their stowing compartments. It was finally just Tracer and Delta. Delta shifted to an open stowing compartment, caressing the controls. "Your number's up, _buddy_."

"Take us back to the entrance."

Delta's optic twitched. "Fine. I'd make your questions count. You've only got a few clicks before we get there."

Tracer drew in cool air, concentrating. "What was your job at the old generator?"

"I maintained the energon pipes."

Tracer felt he was getting somewhere. "The pipes underground? Did you have to climb down into the tunnels?

"We never had to send anybody down. The Quintessons mapped out the energon deposits long before I was ever built. All we ever had to do was drill down, feed down the lines, link up the pumps and watch the fuel flow."

"Have the pipes ever flushed up something in the energon?"

"Sure, there's debris now and then, that why we filtered the lines."

"I was thinking something a bit bigger than mineral deposits. I'm talking about some parts, or maybe a whole robot?"

Delta thought for a moment. "You could certainly fit one through the pipes. Yeah, sure once in a while we'd be picking out some scrap. A relay here, some connectors there; but we never found so much as a limb let alone an entire robot."

"So what would happen if a robot got flushed up with the energon?"

"It'd get caught in one of the filters. We'd see the blockage on the gauges, they'd seal off the branch and do a full system diagnostic until the problem was fully rectified."

Tracer turned more directly to Delta. "What would you do with the body?"

Delta Shrugged. "It's never happened, so your guess is as good as mine." He looked at the approaching entrance. "Times up."

"Stop!" Tracer tapped his shoulder, he caught a look that told him Delta knew he was being watched, but not in this particular spot. The transport came to an abrupt halt. "One last question… Has any protoform ever got energon on them?" He heard Delta sigh, still frustrated.

"Never happened. Energon is pretty dangerous stuff. Drones that got some on them experience overloads or just shut down. Putting a spark too close to energon might be like dousing a flame with rocket fuel. We have cleaning stations to rinse you off if any got on you."

"But it powers everything… even us. Doesn't it?"

"It does, but nothing can run off pure energon. It's a little unstable. The generators convert the energy into fuel that we can use. You, me, everything we have runs off energon _by-products_."

"Ah, I see…" Delta heard Tracer's answer-port experience the slightest blockage and swiftly reengaged the platforms driver.

"This is it." Delta smiled with relief. "From now on we're going our separate ways."

Tracer uttered before finally stepping away "Yeah, until they toss our sparkless casings into the same pile."

"Yours before mine."

The platform locked in place at the entrance. Tracer squeezed between the protoforms trampling onto the platform. As he approached the exit he thought to himself: ' _Either Alpha Trion really is dead, and his body got flushed up and recycled by the Quintessons, or the energon kept his spark alive. Given what Miscel said about reusing old parts, it could only have been the original Alpha Trion. I didn't learn anything I didn't already suspect... Except that I'm actually starting to enjoy meddling.'_

* * *

The Colosseum: the outside walls stretched so tall they confused the optic. Tracer and TL stood in the dense crowd filling the open street. He watched the brim at the peak appear to sway closer and closer with every step. A protoform next to him was looking trying to see ahead of the crowd. Tracer continued to stare at the outside of this impressive structure. A faint etching of a robot could be seen on the high wall. The robot was in a running pose thrusting a pike across to another robot etching. A protoform behind Tracer kept nudging as he turned to talk to someone further back in the crowd.

Tracer and TL walked wide-optics under an arched entrance. The claustrophobic pathway branched off and protoforms dispersed into smaller corridors. They moved with the flow of robots, walking through a long hall that held a slight curve to the left. He shuffled along until the way made a sharp left to a wide set of shallow stairs. A light fell as they stepped out; daylight. The entire structure seemed to be an enormous dish. Tracer looked across to see the tiny shapes of protoforms piling in to the open interior of the structure. Each robot found a space to sit and face towards a recessed pit at the structure's centre. The pit was a perfect ellipse. Tracer found them a space to sit only a couple rows up from the drop into the pit. He could see at each end of the elliptical pit were two high portcullises. Columns were built into the walls around the pit. Tracer remembers days before when he and an old loader protoform dropped off the same columns. All of them were made flush to the outer wall except two: standing out from the wall to hold up an elaborate balcony. Behind the balcony was a high passage to a dark room. Tracer focused his optics and peered through the shadow. He could see nothing.

Throughout the Colosseum were many enforcers. Some kept spectators marching in the corridors, while others patrolled the open seating area for any troublesome patrons. Tracer had never seen so many enforcers in one place.

"Aw, bust me! There's nothing here!" A protoform whined climbing down the steps behind Tracer. He heard hundreds of voices since arriving; but this was one he'd heard before.

"Well, there better be _something_ here…" replied another voice "I brought Lithia here for a fun time, otherwise I'd still be working."

Tracer knew that voice. A protoform helped pull him out of the caverns beneath the city. He mistook Tracer for an enforcer, otherwise he might have left him to die. He said his name was _Spander_. Tracer slowly turned his head and looked over. TL turned too. There were three protoforms standing behind while Spander found a spot to sit. His arm was insensitively clenched around the shoulder of a female. Her face was paralyzed with loss: a loss of time; a loss of energy; a loss of meaning. Tracer couldn't measure her level of instability. She could scream or laugh and her expression would not change. Spander held her tight, raising his comfort while diminishing hers. TL knew the look. She'd seen it before.

"What are you looking at?" Barked one of the protoforms.

"Your friend doesn't look like she's doing so good." TL lashed out. "Maybe she'd be happier if you left her alone!"

"Hey loader!" Spander taunted at Tracer "They actually let you have one of those? You should tell her to ask your permission before speaking!" TL shot out of her seat. Fists clenched.

Tracer grabbed around TL's arm, gently guiding her away from a confrontation. "Who? Taurus-Luna here? _He_ 'aint a fem. He gets that all the time, they just built him with the wrong vocal processors. Naw, he's a loader like me."

Spander was eyeing TL over until one of his cronies burst out. "What? He's just a _loader_?"

Another one joined in. "Yeah, he drives a transport back and forth all day while the rest of us are doing all the real work."

The first one let out a deep laugh. "What a big waste."

The little third follower echoed his mate. "Yeah, we do all the real work!"

Spander leaned back "See, when you do your job right you should get a reward or a promotion. That's how it should be. I worked hard and now I'm in charge of an entire milling sector. I've even got a disgraced enforcer taking orders from me. Hard workers get all the perks… like Lithia here." He ran his hand up her arm possessively.

TL thrashed back from Tracer. "You're nothing special! So you just do what you were told, eh? _Nuhwaaaay_! We got a word for what you are: _Construct_! You're a drone with an ego! I bet you'll even stand still when they _disassemble_ you."

Tracer stood beside TL. Keeping himself plenty calm. "Yeah, CON!" Tracer had heard the word used before. It had become a powerful insult among protoforms. It felt good to say.

A soft beeping chirped from one of Spander's mates. He looked down at a tablet on his wrist. He skimmed over some brief message before tapping Spander on the shoulder. "We got a _code thirty_ back at the mill..."

Spander groaned, then stood up with delightful patience. "Tough words, loader. But correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm younger than you. Maybe only by a day. And your extra time hasn't granted you any real status. You're a pathetic loader, while I'm head supervisor of melting mill omicron. There's a hundred like you and only about ten like me. And don't forget I even saved your worthless life once already. Now, me and my friends got somewhere we need to be. But I'd like to hear you apologize for your disrespect before we go."

Tracer felt a warm surge from his spark. It forced a smile onto his face. "You're right, Spander. I _am_ older. In fact, my first day, my first job was to collect new sparks." Tracer gave each goon a swift look. "So before you act so important, saying how you saved one life. I personally supplied _four_. Yours… maybe yours… and yes perhaps even yours too, Spander." Tracer stepped over, staring into Spander's optics. "And unlike you, I don't loathe helping other protoforms. You got somewhere y'need to be? Better do as you're told and don't let me hold you up, _Con_."

Spander's optic quaked as saw an enforcer walk past. Spander gestured for his gang to follow before pulling his female consort behind him. He turned around once to say "Better watch your back, Tracer!" before going out of view.

Tracer sat TL down. "You okay?" he said empathetically.

"Yeah…" She sighed. "Thanks for sticking up for me."

"Don't mention it." TL smiled over at Tracer. Tracer felt the warming in his Spark settle again. Tension all over him released.

[DWAAAAAAAAN]

A loud tone thundered in the air. Thousands of conversations paused and optics turned to the centre of the arena. They were drawn up to the shaded balcony. The tone ceased as a disc of crablike legs crawled out, carrying a heavy, jointed frame under a torso with a massively oversized cranium. This form was taller than any enforcer, and several times taller than a protoform. Five faces rested in symmetry around the equatorial-region of the sphere. This form stood proud in the light. Basking in the anticipation of their subjects, two hands raised and gestured to the crowd. There was a collective gasp for many protoforms expecting their creators to be something less… _terrifying_. Their posture said 'delighted' but each face bore an ominous grin. Pride grinned as he read the spectators anticipation. The Quintessons voices rang clear through the open structure.

"Welcome protoforms, and behold… your Colosseum! Precisely one year ago today we, your creators, first landed on this barren, lifeless world. Since then, we have built thousands of drones… but today we wish to honor all of you: that diverse class of robots… the protoforms!" A cheer erupted from the stands, exclaiming phrases like ' _about time_ ' and ' _right on._ '

Tracer and TL both felt uneasy. ' _Something isn't right_.'

"As a reward for your continued servitude," Greed continued "we bring you entertainment: in the form of witnessing your fellow robots fight for their very sparks! In this arena, two combatants will enter and only one will leave. There is no second place, no forfeits and no ties. Robots _will_ be destroyed in this arena. They knowingly put their sparks on the line for the chance to be a true champion! This will be part of a Grand Tournament that will be held over many days until a single champion is left. Unprecedented glory awaits the first protoform to complete this Grand Tournament undefeated."

Malice slid into positon.

"A champion must have no fear. A champion must have no weakness. Only a champion can earn our praise and demonstrate the true potential of the entire protoform product line! Who will our first champion be? Some contestants will be dedicated combat units built and trained solely for this tournament alone. However, prisoners and otherwise sub-standard units can expect… mandatory participation. Should any workforce robot wish to volunteer, we would be delighted to accommodate you. But once you've been admitted, you can never leave."

The audience seemed hushed. Tracer grew anxious, worried.

"This _can't_ be considered entertainment." He looked around, but the faces of the other protoforms were of anticipation. They wanted to see violence. "This isn't right…" Tracer uttered looking at TL, who felt the same.

The portcullis at one end of the elliptical arena opened. Tracer could hear heavy slow clicks as it crept up. Pride took the centre slot as a heavy, rounded form marched to the centre of the arena.

"Let's meet our first contenders…" said Pride "Artisan metalsmiths perfected techniques of folding steel to strengthen it. This all-but-forgotten art has been revived in this robust juggernaut. Hands are for menial tasks, that's why this fighter has two hydraulic jaws on his arms. Those are weapons designed to instantly maim an opponent, but an even more gruesome fate awaits those who can avoid them. For the sleek ridge you see orbiting his torso is in fact a rotary-blade. A blade that spins fast to cut clean through an opponent's armor and deep enough to sever a limb or destroy even a spark chamber. Our good subjects, please welcome… _Damascus_!"

The figure reached the centre and stood at attention. Tracer could see the aforementioned blade encircling his round torso—from his shoulder down to the opposite hip. The robots head was sunk in, concealing everything below his eyes. A single wide fin swept forward, giving him a sleek metal mohawk. Thick forearms and shins held their position. Even standing still, this bot made an enforcer look flimsy.

The tall gate closed just as an identical gate opened at the opposite end of the arena. A thin form stretched his legs as he strut out into view. Inquiry slid into position.

_"Our next contender is a mech with minimal armor. His frame is light, allowing him to easily outrun an opponent. But escape won't be an option in this challenge. Reaction time, balance, and a strict training regimen have streamlined his very mind into a deadly weapon. Our faithful subjects, please welcome _Argent_! Will his brain be enough to stand up against Damascus' brawn? Or will slow and sturdy overcome speed? Protoforms. Take a good look at your first contenders. At our command they will begin combat and only one will walk out of the arena with their spark intact!"_

* * *

_"Ah, 'sank you…" Damascus whispered to the silent cosmos as he looked his scraggly opponent over._

* * *

_"Damascus… Argent…" Faith took the centre slot and glared. He glared down at the combatants; he glared out at the spectators. "Salute your masters…" The robots in the pit stood several paces from each other. They both fully turned to the Quintessons. Damascus raised a closed clamp-fist high over his head while Argent presented an open palm as he bowed braggingly. "Now, let this match; and the Grand Tournament… BEGIN!"_


	11. Fated Rivals

A roar of cheers erupted in the Colosseum. Protoforms in the stands could hardly sit still.

Damascus marched slowly toward his opponent. Mass; momentum; he had qualities that everyone who wasn't him could perceive. He pulled the ground and the ground wanted to give way. Whisper-soft hydraulics concealed their immense force.

But Argent only smiled. His long, narrow face tipped down. He fed off the exhilaration in the crowd. Propping his feet up on their toeplates he began to strafe around his opponent. He kicked up filings with his sporadic bursts. He swayed and spun, taunting and teasing his foe.

"Ahh yes." He cackled. Argent had a pleasant voice, only he enjoyed it more than anyone else. "You sure tip the scales, I'll give you that. But I'd say you have too much armour, which I think slows you down and hinders your full range of motion. How high can you even kick? I'm just curious. C'mon. Just give the crowd _ooone_ kick. They'll love it."

"Be kvie-yet!" Damascus hissed.

"Why? This is the last time we get to talk, which I think is an opportunity too good to pass up." Argent stepped back, sizing up Damascus. "I just realized I'm taller than you. Not by much, which I think means they were getting pretty lazy when they built you. You look like you're what… two-thirds scale of something that might have been an actual challenge to fight? It must hurt to know they didn't care enough to build you full-scale. And hey, what's up with the blade? Why is it at an angle like that?"

"Vee are here to vight!" Grunted Damascus. "You're vaisting time!" He charged forward.

"Ahh yes." Argent's smile grew as he evaded and strode past the wide Damascus. "But we can't just have it all over and done with like that. _Weeev_ gotta make a show for all our fans up there." Argent turned away to look at the crowd, fully prepared to hear the heaviest feet charge for him. "And I think it'll make a victory feel way, _waaay_ more satisfying, don't you agree?"

* * *

"Who do you think's gunna win?" One spectator shouted over to Tracer.

"I don't know…" Tracer really didn't know how fights were won. He knew what enforcers were made for: hunting, executing… applying force… Size would make sense for the victor. "The big one…" he said. Although he wanted to believe that size didn't matter in a real fight.

After thinking about it, Tracer _was_ interested in the fight. The energy of the crowd imbued him with passion for every step, every blow the combatants deal. He wanted to believe he could regress into their naïve fanaticism, but something in his mind refused.

* * *

Damascus picked up his feet and sprinted. He drove his arm forward and clamped the jaws down. Argent's feet danced around as he weaved himself around the heavy arm. Dodging the clamp gracefully and spinning around to place one hand on Damascus' extended wrist.

Argent twisted Damascus' wrist, holding the arm straight in front of him. He drew back his other hand, opened it as he focused with the intensity of his harsh training. His hand shot forward to chop through Damascus, striking the polished metal with all his strength. "H'YEAAW!" He felt a collapse of metal, as the shock traveled up his arm. The edge of his hand had a large dent in it, after only managing to put a single scratch in his target.

"Ha-HAH!" Chuckled Damascus as the blade encircling his torso spun around. He rolled himself over and kept swinging his claws at the wily robot. Argent heard the blade, after a second the sound grew so soft it vanished. As a robot with electronic actuators and hydraulics, a silent machine stirred envy… but he'd never let it show. Although stocky, Damascus' body was a fine-tuned instrument. Argent hopped on his toeplates. Between strikes from the claws, he frantically ducked and lunged trying to stay away from the blade.

Despite the danger, Argent wasn't afraid. His signature smirk never left his face. He feinted to and fro, watching heavy arms grasp at empty air.

_'Delightful.'_

"Kvit hopping around!" Damascus shouted. This was turning into a spectacle. He knew he only had to land a single blow and the fight would be over. Argent has speed but he can't even put a dent in Damascus' armour. To him, there can only be one outcome. It's only a matter of time.

"You von't vin!" Damascus roared. The crowd's collective gasps and groans seemed to surge from every step they took. Damascus moved slower to taunt Argent to do some actual damage. Argent gave a kick to his heavy thigh, leaped back and bounced forward again, dropping an elbow onto Damascus' waiting head. Metal collapsed; spectators howled. The Quintessons looked on, indifferent.

"D'you zink zat hurt?" Damascus laughed. Before Argent could retreat Damascus clamped a jaw on the very edge of his hip-joint. Argent felt the heavy mass lock onto him. His thin armour crumpled; the crowd wailed.

* * *

"This is gunna be _brutal_!" someone shouted near Tracer. Although he couldn't let himself look away, in this moment he wanted the match to be over: to let both the protoforms walk away. But he felt a chill in his spark that this fight could not be stopped.

* * *

Damascus flung Argent around. Striking him against the ground and then twirling him around again. He wanted to beat all that cocky bravado out of his circuits. He hurled with all his weight, enjoying the sight of those limp appendages flailing helplessly. He watched for the fear in Argent's eyes; caught a glimpse of his face… only to see a smirk of pure delight.

"HORAAAAAH!" Damascus howled as he lobbed the lanky lightweight in his grasp. Trying to slam him into the ground hard enough to break that smirk right off his face. He swung… and felt the weak metal of Argent rip and break. Argent arced through the air. While airborne, he gave the slightest possible wave to the thrilled audience. He skidded across the metal pit, slowly finding his feet again.

[BRUUUUUUULLLLLMMMMM]

The ground beneath Argent jolted sharply down. Spectators watched the circle at the very centre of the arena slowly slide open to reveal a great pool of red-hot molten metal. Heavy slices of floor furled into mechanisms concealed below the surface. Argent flinched to maintain his balance as the ground beneath him pulled him toward his waiting adversary. A draft of air hot enough to melt the finish off his chassis rolled out behind him. Danger was taunting him from all sides, and all he could do was smirk. He locked eyes while he pivoted on his one leg, this was his way of covertly ensuring his mobility had not been compromised. His hip was damaged, but still usable. Argent dashed. His legs pounded against the moving ground toward the anxious Damascus… who was suddenly composing a smirk of his own.

Argent paced out his strides. As he closed in he shifted wildly, dodging left and right in chaotic haste. Damascus widened his stance, holding his arms out ready to snatch the wily robot whichever side he chose. His jawlike clamps opened as he held his ground. The blade in his torso continued to spin, filling the air with its cool, noiseless slice.

Argent passed the edge where the floor panels shifted below the surface. His rival was only a few strides ahead of him. Within the space of two steps he sharply hopped left to right. Damascus was ready to pounce at either side. His arms fanned out as he shifted forward, just as Argent finally chose which side to strike from… he chose neither.

In a split-second, Argent slid feet-first under Damascus. Turning his body enough to reach up and help Damascus tumble forward. Argent compressed himself beneath the heavy mass collapsing onto him. He felt the blade cut through his shoulder, and grind into the ground beneath. Sparks sprayed out as it cut, pulling him fully off Argent and toward the molten pool. Damascus clamped the brakes onto the blade to regain control. Unlike the blade and its motor, the break system performed rather poorly; the heavy blade slowed, but wouldn't stop for a few seconds. The slower blade continued to grip the ground. He threw out his limbs to stop himself, twisting the blade embedded in the ground until it shattered. The entire disc exploded off him, flinging shards of scorched metal out, some far enough to land in the stands.

A severely scratched and furious Damascus rose to his feet as the ground beneath him tremored. He was standing at the very edge just over the red-hot pool. Again, their came a deep sound from beneath the arena.

[BRUUUUUUULLLLLMMMMM]

The ground beneath both of them rose up—throwing off Damascus' balance causing him to misstep. His heavy feet rocked on the edge of the rising platform. He threw his arms forward to keep him from falling into the pit. He strained to push his weight forward, trying not to think about the calm, sinister footsteps sauntering toward him.

Damascus looked into Argent's eyes. He huffed and cursed that his own hatred could pull the despicable vermin down into the waiting pit with him. But Argent smiled as he savoured the expression of pure hatred he rightfully earned. He took one step, pivoted gracefully on his heel, spun around and dealt Damascus a swift kick to the chest; knocking him clear off the edge. Damascus howled with all his spark as he landed in the inferno.

Argent stepped to the edge to watch. Damascus writhed as the molten pool heated his plating until it turned soft and sagged. His struggling slowed, his arms dropped limp and his optics closed. He lay back as his plating glowed red hot. Argent watched as the features of his first opponent melted away. He watched closely that he might see a small energy containment chamber inside the remains, and the delicate sphere of pulsing energy extinguish. He could not see such a chamber, but he watched the rivets, hands and face smooth over as the single mass began to disperse into the pool. It wasn't long before there was no trace of Damascus left.

A thunderous cheer filled the air. The crowd was well energized. Argent raised a hand to salute the Quintessons as the arena floor configured to its original, featureless state.

* * *

Tracer felt the tension leave through his hands. Just like that, it was over. He got what he had wanted, and it hurt like a ruptured fuel cell. ' _A protoform was killed. And they all enjoyed it…'_

_'I enjoyed it.'_

The self-admission of the fact left an incomplete feeling in his spark. Something inside his very core had shut down. He looked over to TL. Her optics weren't holding back any contempt. Her posture was calm, almost unaffected. Tracer realized he bore a guilt-ridden expression.

"What?" She asked. "What a rush, eh? I thought you males got a kick out of violence, or whatever. Those bots knew what they were getting into. Besides, dangerous jobs are what we protoforms do best. I don't think a drone would have lasted half that time."

Tracer remembered the scuffle with Rubbish. He never told her that story, he never told _anyone_. He has seen danger, been close enough read its serial number. He didn't see it something to gloat about. It didn't bring him any satisfaction to have met it, only to have escaped. He realized the encounter wasn't a challenge he chose, but one that found him, stalked him. There would certainly be luxury in choosing when to fight: to prepare yourself mentally to achieve a goal. He realized that a protoform made to fight would not have been given a choice.

If they had been, the choice would have been 'fight or die.'

"There must be something wrong with me then." Tracer began. "I got that rush you mentioned, but didn't you feel a… subtraction in your spark? Don't you have the least amount of pity for them? I… I can't sit here and watch anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

"This whole thing! The very idea of _all this_ … it's just wrong! Why should the only sport be so… deadly? I guess to you, that was just another male, nobody that mattered. You could certainly do with a hundred less of us easily."

"Hey, easy! Alright?" TL assured. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it? They said any of us could be picked up, carried off and forced to fight! Would you have cheered at the death of a female? Someone you knew?"

"That won't happen. C'mon, this is supposed to be fun… and, what? Are you saying you knew him?"

"Well. no…"

"Then why are you so mad?"

"Maybe I see sparks differently because of everything I've seen. I've seen where we come from. I've seen how we end up. And if that makes me the outcast, I'll be happy to leave."

"Tracer, don't…"

[DWAAAAAAAAN]

The Quintessons raised their hands to claim the attention of the crowd again. A horned skull-mask of Malice gave a toothless grin as he took the centre slot.

"I'm coming with you…" TL said, ignoring her creators.

Malice's voice rose up over the open structure. "Our loyal subjects, we have our first winner!" A soft cheer rose from the stands. Contempt gripped Tracer as he let their words fuel his anger. He didn't wish to see another fight. But rage was taking him, taunting him to feed his drive for justice. A tiny voice in his head pushed him to tolerate their disdainful arrogance for another moment.

"Listen." Tracer huffed. "I bet they're going to commend him for his merciless allegiance. They'll make him look like some kind of hero."

"… As you can see, the winner isn't always determined by who is stronger. A winner must seize opportunity. A winner must not be afraid to approach danger. Our first winner has flawlessly demonstrated this… well done, Argent. May you continue to fight with all the skill we saw today."

Argent saluted the masters once more. There was pride in knowing he was the first protoform to kill another in this style of combat. History was made on this day, and it would remain his forever. The exhilaration was incomparable. He needed to experience this feeling again and again. Argent would be proud to know savagery like his would emerge again eons after him. There would come a day when a protoform-descendent would stand over the bodies of their own kind and howl for the coming of a new age of civil war. One day, many lifetimes hence.

A final wave from the Quintessons told him to take his leave. He gave a bow, turned, and marched towards the archway from where he'd come.

Inquiry took position, pacing their body around the balcony as he gesticulated. "We have now witnessed dedicated combat units in action. But perhaps you may be wondering, 'can they really be superior to a common enforcer?'"

The gate had already been opening. Argent saw the new combatant enter. An imposing enforcer trudged in. His eyes focused. He had rows of tall spikes on his shoulders, shins and forearms. Two twisted horns pointed forward from his helmet. In one hand he carried a spear. He focused his eyes ahead into the closed portcullis opposite him, tightening his grip on the spear.

Argent passed him before reaching the open archway. The enforcer's eyes stared straight ahead, unmoving. And jaws: two rows of jagged teeth clenched together. Mech fluid dripped across them, suggesting either the hydraulics were under constant, intense pressure… or these jaws were actually stained from his latest victim. Argent kept spring in his knees and stepped light on his toeplates. The armor made this bot look heavy, but they had a hollow sound over the whine of heavy hydraulics. Argent registered him like a charged dynaspring that could go off in a nanoclick. His training could not let him accept this was a moment without danger. As their shoulders passed one another, Argent turned his head, keeping the enforcer in peripheral view until he was within the Colosseum substructure.

"Another day, perhaps…" He whispered. "I'll be ready."

* * *

"I thought you didn't want to watch…" TL said.

"I don't…" Tracer trailed off as he slowly stepped away from the stairway to get a look at this enforcer. He partially expected to see Razyr. But the focused stare and different choice of weaponry suggested a new class of program altogether was at work inside.

"My good protoforms. Let us welcome, fresh from the line of duty… Fang-Core!"

A collective, hesitant groan pierced the arena. The Quintessons smiled.

The other portcullis drew up and a lean protoform moseyed in. Tracer turned. This one had a large transparent face-shield permanently tipped up and out of the way… fully defeating its purpose. He awkwardly carried a medium sized, well balanced axe in the industrial clamps where hands should be. It had a crescent blade on one face and a single sharp spike on the opposite side. By far his most distinguishing traits were that his arms and chest were too big for a robot of his size.

Tracer froze in his feet. Optics wide. The protoform in the arena was Lug, his former mentor. He turned to TL. "I… know him!"

* * *

Greed contained a chuckle as he took control. "Take a good look. Some of you may even recognize this one. Behold, one of your own... Lug… A simple name for a simple worker. He wasn't built to fight. He is but a mere loader. But obedience is a necessity in our service, and when he became obsolete, well… let's say he did not enter this tournament willingly."

Malice slid in. "You all would do well to remember to follow orders, or you too will stand where he stands now."

Lug reached the inner circle of the arena. The axe wavered low with the intention of being promptly discarded. He didn't look his opponent over. There was no need. He didn't wonder about how he might win. He formed his plan the moment he was told who he'd face in the arena. He slacked back his dense shoulder-girdle, looked right into the flat, shallow, motionless optics of the enforcer. They were optics restless and hungry for carnage. Lug looked into them and smiled, swaying on his slender hips.

"Well I'll be… if it 'aint 'ol fang-face. Hah-ah!" Lug chuckled heavily. "I'd ask them-there crowd to give you a hand, but—oh, that's right… I gave you two 'o mine already… He-yup, you're about to get up-close and personal with _the cruncher twins_. Ooow, I don't blame you fer being a bit scared, tell-truth I scare myself sometimes. These-here will be hype-dang impossible to pop off. I guarantee!"

"… But hey-now, where's the rest o them?" Lug exaggerated trying to look past the enforcer. "As I recall, it done-took three uh you enforcers to bring me in. Now don't you go tellin' me I done have to go easy on you just to get them-there audience all riled up. Way I see it, you and I got a score to settle. And just breaking you quick-like 'aint gonna make us even. See, somewhere in that-there empty dome o'yers there's a unopened file labeled 'pain,' an I'm sure as shrapnel gunna show you where it is!"

Fang-Core turned to face the Quintessons' balcony.

Pride stared down with his chin turned up. "Lug, Fang-Core: salute your masters!" There was less formality in his tone. He was demanding obedience.

Fang-Core raised his spear high. Lug paused to squint through one optic up to the distant rulers. He slowly raised one clamp up. Looking down his arm's length to place the Quintessons inside his grasp. He closed the clamp, laughing to himself with the thought of seeing them crushed.

Faith scowled at the gesture. Muttering amongst his fellow judgekin "I would expect no less from his type." He then spoke to the audience "Let the match… Begin!"

"Finally!" Lug dropped the axe and got into a full sprint. He was told he had to hold onto the weapon until the match began. The Quintessons might have hoped he'd foolishly use it, but Lug is nobody's fool. He understood the dexterity required to adeptly wield any weapon came from the mobility in their wrists and hands, which he did not have. Fang-Core widened his stance and drew the spear back… prepared to thrust forward.

Lug's arms hung awkwardly far ahead of him. He arrived. Fang-Core hissed as he shot the spear forward. The point swirled in a circular path evading Lugs waiting clamps and pierced into his chestplate. The shaft of the spear flexed. Lug's clamps locked onto the bent shaft; vaulting his momentum upward and stopping the point from driving below the surface.

Fang-Core tried to step out of the way. The spear's length gave him time to act, but he still had to retain his weapon. The protoform on his spear made a arcing strafe as the spear flexed up. The nanoclick after Lug's toeplates touched the ground he tugged, shoved and swung the spear still in his grip. Between the two combatants the spear flexed and undulated; both would step, tug, thrust, step again, holding their distance but increasing their force with every movement.

Fang-Core stepped in with a powerful thrust. The spear flexed hard and Lug felt the tension ready to lift him off the ground. He let go. The spear sprang up and freed itself from the enforcers grip. Lug was already closing in, placing a clamp on Fang-Core's face, locking down pressing metal teeth into one another. Fang-Core strained to remain standing. He drew the arm on the side of Lug's back and grabbed his shoulder-frame. Fang-Core felt metal teeth deform and shatter. Mech-fluid oozed from the clenching gaps. He brought his other arm to grapple on Lug's forward frame.

The two bots tangled into a grappling mass of pistons and armour. Protoforms in the stands watched the robots exchange blows until finally the two separated. Fang-Core threw his combatant off him with a two-foot kick. Lug gracefully tumbled, used his heavy arms to anchor and grind him to a halt. The spear had landed only a few steps away. He dashed to grab it, picking it up in time to see the spiked mass of Fang-Core's upper body charging towards him.

Lug gripped the spear with both clamps spaced wide and, wielding it like a quarterstaff, deflected the oncoming spiked mass with the length of the shaft. Fang-Core stumbled to regain his momentum. In his rage, he spat out a clod of mech fluid. Lug gripped his new weapon tight in-clamp… bending it very subtly in his solid grip.

Fang-Core thrust his fist at Lug. Lug feinted to the left before diving to the right. A furious enforcer flailed to catch the elusive protoform. His short legs slid out from under him as his body ground against the Colosseum floor. He wasn't facing Lug, but he could hear his footsteps behind him. Lug hopped over and coiled the spear around the heavy wrist before Fang swung his other arm around. Lug pulled at the spear and wound it around the second wrist. Locking both firmly together behind his back.

Lug threw his arms up. The crowd howled and flailed in exhilaration. Fang-Core struggled helplessly to free his hands. Tracer felt the urge to join in the excitement.

Lug stepped. His body glided while his feet touched the ground beneath him. His arms swung in front of him, scraping the ground as they passed his feet. Lug smiled as he looked down on the disabled enforcer. Lug clenched his clamps and wound up for a punch to his mangled cheek. _[SPUUUK]_ The metal-on-metal sound could be heard far off into the stands. The crowd whooped and hollered. Tracer couldn't contain himself and began chanting along with others around him.

Lug shot out one punch after another as he tried to contain his own excitement. "YEAH! THIS-HERE is for all-them old'ins… for all their sparks got eaten. And THIS is for all-them young'ins… for feeding them all the lies! And THIS is for ME… for my ARMS… my spark has never felt this alive! I done brought you DOWN… looky-here who's HELPLESS, looky-here who's INFERIOR. Looky-here, cuz Imma gunna want you see this coming…"

The crowd roared like they were about to pour into the arena to join in. Nothing could cut through the thick noise, not even Fang-Core's infuriated howl as he tore one hand off to free the other. Mech fluid poured from his snarling jaws as he grabbed the discarded axe off the floor. Lug's arms drew back as he stepped fast to get some distance. Fang-Core heaved his mass forward as the axe slashed through the air. Lug fell back, just narrowly avoiding the blade. His arms and legs scrambled to get back up, but Fang-Core only pivoted where he stood, twirled the axe in his hand and made a final chop to bury the blade into the side of Lug's mortified face.

The noise of the spectators died down. Their cheers echoed off and soured in the hot, motionless air above the arena. Lug's form froze in place for a moment before eventually falling over. Inanimate, but not completely lifeless.

"Oh no!" Tracer heard TL gasped.

Fang-Core booted the motionless body into laying chest-up. He yanked the axe out and turned it in his grip, touching the long spike to the centre plate of Lug's chest. Fang-Core hoisted the axe up high over his head and roared as he brought it down. The spike pierced clean through Lug's spark chamber and into the ground beneath it. Only a few spectators noticed the flash of light as the spark inside him went out.

Tracer saw it. A visual definition of 'unspark' that would never be dislodged from his memory.

Tracer flashed to his first day. Seeing a street littered with protoforms. A drone observed the aftermath and was oblivious to the unseen massacre that took place. Their sparks gouged out of their chests. He had no knowledge of the weight of tragedy he had narrowly missed… save for Escia's paralyzing grief.

But now, there was no uncertainty. No dissenting opinion. No doubt. Lug is gone.

_Forever._

Tracer felt his hands clenched into fists. His fists ached for vengeance.

[DWAAAAAAAAN]

The Quintessons loomed pleased from their balcony. Their body was still but each face circled around to look down at the outcome. Each face took turns letting out a soft laugh.

Pride grinned, "M'wah-ah-ah"

Greed's closed his eyes in joy, "K'lee-eh-eh-eh!"

Malice indulged in the sight, "AH-AHAHA!"

Inquiry chanced a brief smirk, "Hmm-mmm-ahh"

"Yesss…" Faith gave a satisfied sigh. "Well done Fang-Core. It is clear that a mere worker is no match against one of our enforcers. Our honoured Fang-Core will, in-fact be returning to his assigned patrol duties immediately following today's matches."

There was a different mood in the crowd. The first match was certain to have a protoform triumph. The crowd was guaranteed a hero they could admire. Now there seemed to be a divide in the reaction. Tracer looked around to see faces of disorientation and shock, mixed with others of exhilaration and captivation. It was clear some wanted to see protoforms win; but most merely enjoyed it for the violence.

… Even the slaughter of their own kind.

TL and Tracer looked at each other. TL said "Were you two close?" She studied his eyes, waiting for him to say anything.

"He was the one who trained me." Tracer uttered. Looking at the lifeless form in the centre of the arena. "I only knew him one day."

TL's eyes opened. "I'm sorry…" She wondered how long until she saw someone she knew was thrown into a fight. The thought of seeing any of her long-lost friends killed paralyzed her.

Tracer turned and sprinted off. He didn't want her to pretend she knew how he felt.

TL watched him go, but wouldn't get close. She could see he wanted to be alone, but he needed someone there.

Tracer felt a tremble in his spark. The Colosseum was a permanent structure. As time goes on, this will become so common the brutality of it will be drowned out, and spectators will come back out of habit. The slim chance of seeing the victories they want will force them to accept the losses they don't.

Tracer heard his inner drone interject. ' _And you think a loss somehow equates to failure?_ '

Tracer only thought of this as some remnant of the logical, emotionless drone he used to be. He turned to the main archway to exit the Colosseum. He wondered about this inner drone: this strange subconscious that utters brief words often of little help. Tracer felt there was something more with this line of questioning. ' _What is he… what am I trying to say?'_

His inner drone said nothing. A moment passed. Finally it returned ' _It's impossible to have the power to overcome absolutely every challenge. No individual is perfect…_ '

Tracer held back reacting to a voice only he can hear. He might have laughed or he might have rolled his optics back into his head. He was starting to sound like Alpha Trion as his spark was fading in the pits: cryptic, and annoyingly vague. He waited for his inner drone to finish its rehearsed statement of meaningless wisdom with ' _…except the Quintessons.'_

But it didn't.

_'Go on, say it: …except the Quintessons!'_

Nothing… He realized he was waiting anxiously to hear a voice that, in fact, does not exist. That realization alone almost made him laugh out hysterically. ' _Nothing makes sense anymore.'_

Tracer paced aimlessly down streets, lost in thought. ' _Could I be… suggesting that the Quintessons are not immortal?_ _Was my former drone-self programmed to know this?'_ He recalled his discussion with the old collector drone, Kaetor. _'No, I had to be told who the Quintessons were… I had to be told because I didn't know. Yet, I know now that there can be data tracks in my programming that a mere drone cannot access… Could I have been implanted with this knowledge without knowing it, or could it be some kind of universal law that I am just now coming to understand?'_

Tracer thought back to his first day: collecting sparks to become part of the Quintessons' dark, twisted plans. Those sparks were taken to the palace, along with perhaps countless others waiting for the Quintessons to place them into another unfortunate worker. Or into one of these combat units, to be promptly unsparked shortly after.

 _'All those sparks…'_ His inner drone whispered.

_'Yes, I know. What are you trying to tell me?'_

_'… Unguarded.'_

Tracer stopped pacing. He hadn't given a single thought to where he was going. He expected to be nowhere. He looked around. He turned left to see the path leading straight to the entrance to the Quintesson's palace. The way he came lead directly back to the Colosseum—he saw TL approaching.

"Are you going to be okay?" TL asked, genuinely concerned.

Tracer heard her, but had wandered too far in thought to presently speak. Tracer felt a weight on his conscience. He could see two guards standing watch at the gate, but considered that there must be a squad that accompanied the Quintessons whenever they leave the safety of their palace. These plus perhaps the many more to patrol the stands, keeping the spectators from rioting all must have been reassigned from their normal duties.

' _This might be an opportunity_ ,' He thought, ' _an opening that would soon be closed forever_ '. Tracer realized the Quintessons would only allow themselves to over-staff their security for the first demonstration. In time, the number of enforcers to coordinate everything for the Grand Tournament would soon be optimized. The security of the palace might be reduced only this once. This may be his only chance to get inside and rescue the sparks.

_'Too risky.'_

Tracer almost calculated the chance of having this opportunity arise again. He stopped himself when he tried to estimate how long he had left to live. Even if energon could extend life, he hadn't proved it, and stealing energon would be just as perilous.

"I don't have enough time…"

"Enough time for what?"

He realized he was in the midst of the choice he had thought about earlier: the choice to fight. He realized he could turn around, walk back to the stowing sector, and make tomorrow the same as yesterday; go on like today never happened. He would follow his practiced routine: showing up on time, taking orders, shrugging off insults and avoiding any chance to change a damn thing…

Tracer heard Lug's parting words: 'stay out of trouble...'

 _'I can't do that. I can't forget what I know. I can't pretend like I don't care about myself, about every spark across this planet. By what right do these Quintessons dare to command free-sparks to our deaths?'_ Their reckless authority was once challenged by a protoform named Armaetrus Epsilon, but now it has to be fully denied!

_'Sorry, Lug. But I hear trouble inviting me, and my spark wont rest until I answer its call.'_

Tracer looked at TL. He saw her like he had never seen her before. It was like he'd been sparked a second time. Everything had even more meaning; even more significance than he had ever thought. He looked into her optics and felt a bond he'd never known. A level of trust and compassion so strong it frightened him, because it meant his emotions have finally taken over.

"You looked really out of it for a click there." TL said.

"I had a lot on my mind."

"Are you alright now?"

"No, I'm not alright." Tracer muttered. Not meeting TL's gaze. "Someone I knew was unsparked. I don't want to work, I don't want to rest. There isn't a part of me now that could stand here another moment without feeling the sting of letting _their_ rule continue unchallenged!"

TL chirped with hesitation. "You said 'their rule…' you mean the Quintessons? What are you going to do?"

"The Quintessons are at the Colosseum, but the sparks they need for new protoforms are in there." Tracer pointed to the palace. "They would've taken all of their best guards to accompany them. This gives us a chance to sneak in and steal them. I'm going in there and I'm going to bring them to the workers. Once we can make more of our own we won't need the Quintessons anymore!"

"You're serious!" she said, staring amazed at Tracer.

"I won't let them murder another spark!"

"You don't have to do this because of what I said earlier." TL said, registering guilt. "You don't have to throw your life away to impress me! Please, don't go. We'll find another way to rescue them."

"I can't wait any longer! This may be the only chance I have to do something right. Once I'm inside I have a pretty good idea where to look. I've been in there before."

"So have I."

Words dropped from Tracer as he processed what he heard. "What? When?"

"I told you: I worked under sector one, working on the primary repulsor drive."

Tracer stared at TL. "That's right... I should have known sector one would be the first area they built on… the area around the spaceship they arrived on." His optics widened. "That means the repulsor drive…"

"… Is the ship's engine!" TL gasped. "And I was inside it… I was so focused on getting the work done I didn't even stop to wonder."

"How did you get inside?"

"Through the front gate. But if you don't have a recorder escorting you you're not getting past the guards. Even with reduced personnel, they wouldn't leave any part of the perimeter unguarded. And I doubt you'd find a switchgrave."

"A _switchgrave_?"

"When I and the others escaped, the blackout didn't shut off the actual security. It only shut off the surveillance systems." TL grabbed Tracer's hand. She turned his palm up and made the faintest of scratches:

_\V/_

"… The oldest one lead us to a space with this symbol engraved in the corner. She pointed to the symbol and said the protoforms who oversaw the construction left secret rooms to hide and passages to escape. You could tap on these walls and they don't feel hollow. But somewhere nearby will be a burnt-out light or an outdated intercom, there you'll find a switch that lets the wall open."

"Ah, I had no idea..." Tracer remembered how Alpha Trion vanished earlier that day. There must have been one of these _switchgraves_ in the corridor. "But it kinda makes sense, now."

"But you would only find them in buildings that were supervised by protoforms. No one knows if it was just one making these or if there are many. The walls around the palace are older than protoforms, so you won't find anything there. But maybe a refurbished structure close to it. A passageway might lead under the wall." She paused. "But the chance of there being one is next to nothing. The Quintessons could return from the Colosseum any cycle now. Don't do this. We'll find another way!"

"And what if we don't?" Tracer threw his words. "Then I'll live another week and either die of old age or get thrown into a match at the Colosseum. And you'll have been right about me all along! Less than a day, and you could read my fate. I decide my fate! Not you, not the Quintessons, not anybody!"

TL trembled. "Please, I don't want this to be about what I said. I didn't know what was going to happen today…"

"Well it's a little too late for that! My mind's made up. I'm getting inside that palace. Y'know, I really thought you would have come with me. If anyone understood, it'd be you. How long do you think it'll be before they find you? It could be tomorrow for all you know. Don't ask yourself _if,_ ask yourself _when:_ when they learn who you really are, and order you return to that place, will you obey?"

TL stepped back. "I… I don't…"

"WILL YOU OBEY?" Tracer stared through her.

TL fought to hold her optics open. "No. I'd rather die."

"That's how I see everything now. If I only get one chance to make a difference… one chance to save others from suffering, then it's worth my life to take it. If you've already chosen to stay out of this that is your choice…" Tracer looked into her optics. He finally saw her holding back guilt. He found he had nothing left to say, except "Goodbye" before turning and running toward the palace.

TL watched him as he ran, helpless to save him.


	12. Loose Ends

_'Not yet…'_

Tracer counted the enforcer's steps. He judged the distance to the next gap between the storage bunkers. The palace was beyond the far side, but the enforcers patrolling the high walls—although sparse—could still spot him easy, he needed to make it to the next gap to have cover. He was watching the only enforcer patrolling the grounds inside the walls. He was almost beyond the farthest bunker, by the time he hears Tracer's footsteps, he'll be safely out of sight. Tracer looked again at the enforcer atop the nearest wall.

This plan so far was working better than he expected. Getting inside the palace walls was easier than he had thought. Apparently when the old generator was destroyed, many nodes in the city's power grid had to be isolated for new connections to be made. One of those old nodes ran under the palace wall. A special construction team cleared out the cables and sealed off both ends of the conduit. Tracer found the entrance inside a renovated communications tower—a short hike from the wall—just as TL had predicted. Tracer almost didn't see the switchgrave etched into a panel. He found a small button inside a ruptured fire-suppression unit before making the tight crawl through the narrow conduit to lead him beyond the walls.

The old power conduit had only been repaired since the destruction of the old generator. It was pretty clear that these passages were still being made; there has to be protoforms passing knowledge on to their successors… a secret society within the workers. They could be from the resistance; if there still _is_ a resistance.

 _'Not yet…'_ He remembered hiding from Rubbish in the pits. Fear now mixed with thrill—Tracer savored the sensation. Heightened awareness and reckless abandon blended well. He watched the enforcer turn and step out of sight.

 _'NOW_ …' Tracer sprinted toward the gap. He passed a loading bay door that began to roll open just as he passed it. The sound of the door masked his footsteps as he turned sharply into the gap. Directly ahead of him was the palace. When he reached the end of the row he looked again for any enforcers. None. Good.

Tracer took in the sight of the palace from this angle. He tried to see it as a spaceship. At first he had no clue how much was below the surface, he could just barely make out its overall profile. It was a streamlined design. What he thought were service hatchways were more likely airlocks, and certainly wouldn't open without triggering an alarm. What he thought were archways at the main entrance were the ends of two giant lance-like wings curving down and up to attach high up on the main body of the vessel. Tracer noticed modules and components at the top of the near wall were mirrored at the bottom of the far wall. The vessel seemed to have an end-over-end symmetry. Tracer guessed the vessel to be one-third buried in the ground.

Tracer looked all over for the safest way inside. He noticed openings higher up that appeared to be exhaust ports. They were too high to climb, but if the ship was symmetrical there must be identical ports just around ground level toward the aft section. Tracer didn't wait to check for enforcers, and ran straight to the ship's hull. He reached the wall and followed it aft. He didn't have time to calculate how far to run, or how high he should be looking. It might be shoulder-level or even just below the— "U'agh!"

Tracer had looked up at the wrong time, and slipped into a tunnel. He felt a draft of warm air as he slid over natural ground into a manufactured tube into the rhythmic humming of heavy fans. After several curves the tube leveled out and he could stand up. He found a passage out into the corridors and made his way up through the levels to the Quintessons' throne room.

* * *

Inside the throne room, Tracer walked slowly. He stepped lightly, but he could still hear his footsteps echo through the great hall. He listened carefully for any signs he might yet be discovered.

 _'There must be an adjoining room.'_ Tracer thought. _'The Quintessons emerged from somewhere last time without being seen.'_ Tracer quickly walked up the shallow steps toward the throne. As he rose up the steps he turned back to count the tiny transport vehicles zipping across the cityscape. The sun was vanishing below the horizon. The open air behind him filled him with the undeniable sense he was being watched.

As he passed the throne he saw a doorway tucked in a back corner. The door wasn't at all camouflaged, but it held itself perfectly flush with the walls around it. Tracer found the door was not locked. So he opened it and stepped through. The door resisted with an air-tight seal.

The rest of the palace—the entire spaceship—was the embodiment of master engineering. This chamber was more the embodiment of 'a work in progress'. Workbenches had been left littered with parts; tools were either in between tasks or were themselves under maintenance. This place reminded Tracer of the assembler's garage. There was even a robotic form lying incomplete on one workbench. Tracer walked up to look the body over. Every component was pristine and unworn. The chest was opened and there was no spark containment chamber. This was a new drone of some kind.

Tracer was puzzled by the unique design. He tried to narrow down the intended purpose of this drone. The thin, light frame made him want to say recorder, but he couldn't stop looking at the exposed optic sensor. Tracer's first impression was the head was incomplete, but the more he looked at it he realized the large, singular optic _was_ the entire head. It brought to mind a surveillance system on top of the drone's body. Strange, but Tracer pressed himself to move on. There were other chambers that branched off from this room. There were computer stations and workbenches around several support columns. There was plenty to take cover behind, for Tracer or anyone else. He crept onward.

In the first chamber, the wall closest to the door was inset with a grid of alcoves. Tracer saw an orange glow coming from many of the spaces. He dashed over and reached into one, pulling out a small cube the size of his fist. These were not sparks, these were _something else_. Each cube appeared to be a crystalline circuit board that would periodically blink. The blink occurred at the same rate for every cube, although they were not synchronized.

Tracer had never seen anything like this. His curiosity did not want him to move on until he figured something out from this room. It seemed the more he saw, the less he realized he truly understood. This could be his chance to learn more about the Quintessons' plans, perhaps even find a weakness.

 _'No.'_ he told himself. _'I came here for the sparks.'_ Thrusting the cube back into the alcove and continuing on to the next chamber.

Tracer stepped through the doorway into a world of obsessed sanitation. This room was clean in every possible meaning. The air itself was cleansed of contaminants. The very idea of dust seemed contraband. Although Tracer did not see sparks, the openness of this chamber beckoned him further. He dragged in plumes of faint dust afraid to stray from his wake. Tracer saw many tiny, strange tools resting in trays. Instruments Tracer couldn't identify.

Against one wall, Tracer saw vats of chemicals. Each one had several displays. Meaningless gibberish skipped across each monitor: _'Nucleotides... protein supplements… adrenaline… neurotransmitters… what is all this?'_ The crystalline circuits in the other chamber were something digital; the drone's function had something to do with its single, giant optic; but _these_ … everything in this room gave not a single clue, but the manner in which it was kept told him this was one of their most important facilities.

A sense of time washed over Tracer. Tracer needed to return to the realm of familiar mechanics, and escape from… _whatever_ this was. He expected to hear the sound of the Quintesson's clicking footsteps as he felt time slipping away; his opportunity almost wasted…

There was one chamber left.

Tracer turned the corner and stepped through the archway. ' _That light!'_ He saw the glow of a hundred pulsing orbs. Each one was contained within a glass canister with a trigger mechanism on the top. Colours danced over floor and wall as the energies of one orb harmonized with each of its neighbors.

 _'_ They're here! _'_

A nearby workbench had a collection of empty canisters. He picked one up as he paced across the wall. Tracer fiddled with the empty canister in his hand. He tapped the trigger, remembering watching the anomalies change into true sparks. He looked again at the wall of sparks. "How will I get all of you out of here?" He had the thought to look around for a container, some kind of vessel to transport them. This chamber only had the sparks in alcoves set into the wall. Nothing else. He hadn't seen anything in any of the other rooms either.

He still had the holster to carry five securely on his hip, the rest would have to be whatever he could carry in his arms. Tracer knew he'll be seen escaping, any balanced stack might lead to one dropping in a moment of panic. If there was any hope of making it out alive he couldn't accept harming a single one. One free hand should be kept to open doors or climb. That means he can only carry six. He had hoped for a heist that'd embarrass his oppressors, now he felt he may have risked his life for a supply that a single collector drone will restock in a day. He had wasted enough time to make it here. "I'm such an idiot!" he sighed. "I can only take six of you with me. I'll probably be caught and it won't even matter at all." Tracer's neck suddenly weakened, he dropped his head and started to sulk.

In the silence of the laboratory, Tracer heard a sound. If it'd been footsteps he might've jumped. If it'd been an explosion he might've ducked down. The sound had a softness about it: there was a pop and a fizzle, then nothing. He opened his eyes to see if he should have been more alarmed.

He looked around the room for something that had fallen. He looked at the doorway for anyone standing there. He lifted his arms and looked over himself for any damage. Nothing had changed. From where did the sound come then? The only thing Tracer noticed was a glowing light that kept moving out of his sight. It was hard to tell at first against the glow from the sparks. The light moved whenever he moved his right arm to see. The moment Tracer stopped moving he realized he was following the light of a single spark… inside the container in his hand.

"Where did you come from?" Tracer asked out loud. He mused as he looked over the wall of sparks. Amidst a cluster of sparks was a single container that he swore held a spark a moment before… It had somehow _jumped_ from one container to another. "I didn't know sparks could do that." He tried to think of another time he saw any spark do anything this strange. "Maybe no other spark can…"

Whatever the reason behind this trick, Tracer took it as a sign that at least this spark was willing to leave with him. It filled Tracer with a renewed determination, but all that slipped away when Tracer heard a thick, stern voice behind him.

"Don't move! What are you doing here!?"

* * *

"I have the authority to kill you. Do you know that?" Spander said, fists propped on his desk as he glared at the reptilian robot at the centre of his office.

Razyr stood at perfect attention. "KURAHHL, Yes…"

"You cost me the spark of one of my best today." Spander paced around his office. He looked out onto the factory floor—ground zero. "I bet you saw an opportunity, you certainly had the desire, but you did not have the _authority_." He turned to face the enforcer "That's the difference between you and me; I can see precisely when action is necessary, and you apparently cannot."

"Worker-bot not work. KARR… Insolence must be punished." Razyr's face showed no remorse.

Spander scoffed. "You must be the thickest, dumbest enforcer ever made! I just finished cleaning up the last incident you caused. We had to pull double-shifts, shut off the lights to reduce energy consumption, the cost of operation was almost balanced… and then you had to do this!" He pushed his desk softly to one side to step around to get up-close to Razyr. "Hex is dead, the rail system is destroyed and I've got a lake of metal congealing onto the entire substructure! It all has to be chiselled off the floor and walls, and we're going to need all new dyes _and_ a new elevator! At this point it's almost easier to demolish the whole lot and build it up again from scratch!" He turned and shoved his desk against the outside wall. Jostling all his cyberstationary and gifting the window with a fracture.

"Not my fault—HUARRLL—melting scrap not my primary function."

"Your function is mine to decide! It was given to me by the Quintessons. I'm sure even an enforcer like you has at least some capacity to adapt! This farce has gone on for way too long! I wouldn't be doing my job if I let you keep on sabotaging everything you get your hands on. I also wouldn't be doing my job if I scrapped you before your work-day is over. You're not getting off that easy."

"I… ah! ARKOUUGHL—AAAH!" Razyr wanted to protest, but a sensation struck him. He couldn't help but to pull the stinging spike out of his chest. His hand rose up—but there was nothing to grab. Still he cringed trying to hold his composure.

Spander glared puzzled. "Mmm? Oh that's right… _Pain_. I always forget since you're the only one who feels it. It must be humiliating. It's like a systemic glitch that completely disables you, and yet the source of it seems so minor. Hard to believe a sensation in your arm could make you unable to stand; a sensation in your foot makes you unable to speak. An interesting choice of punishment, but where—I wonder—did the Quitnessons get such an idea? What manner of being experiences _pain_?"

Razyr tempered himself and stood again. "KULHAAH. I could tell you…"

"I actually don't care. You've got one job before the work-day is over; one more job, then I'll take you off-line for good! The support beams on the main level weren't damaged—thankfully. Right now they're being loaded onto the transport rig; they need to go to the crew at construction hangar upsilon-twenty-three—"

"—I'll hook rig up to omnihual." Razyr interjected.

"No!" Spander snapped. "You're going to pull them there _yourself_."

"GU'HUAAW!" Razyr snarled. "That's two sectors over!"

"If you leave now, you'll get there just before they close up. After you're done, you'll return here to be decommissioned. It goes without saying that the Quintessons have other ways of punishing you if anything should go wrong. Do you understand?"

"Yes… _sir_."

* * *

Razyr strained to pull the trailer rig out into the streets. The old axle was grinding loudly. With every step he heard his own servos whining and stalling. Something was barely handling the weight; whether it was the road beneath him, his damaged frame or the trailer itself was impossible to guess. Every step dissipated into the ground like mercury drops. The distant sun straddled the skyline of towers. A pointless cascade of the visible spectrum reflected off structures before converging into his optics. Razyr longed for a sky of perpetual blackness.

Despite the limitations of his vocabulary, Razyr's thoughts were very precise. His inner voice counted the grueling steps inside his head. _'Eight… Nine… I did nothing to deserve this! I am Razyr: an enforcer-elite! This is all because of Hex and his persistent chattering. My function is to punish disobedience. I cannot go against my programming at the whim of a protoform! Spander was correct: we_ can _adapt our function, but we_ cannot _adapt our loyalty.'_

_'Spander should know his position of authority is only temporary. Their lives are so short, these protoforms... they seek to prove their abilities too fast that their loyalty is never tested. Any protoform following orders only seeks their own glory, not the glory of the creators. Spander will be replaced by the next available protoform, but these replacements can only substitute their predecessors; they can never improve upon them.'_

_'Spander isn't the problem. I would never have been sent to the melting mill if Tracer hadn't survived. He was granted the masters' favor—how could they not see through the obvious charade? If I had the opportunity I would have buried_ him _under a ton of molten metal. Tracer… you cost me all that gave my life meaning. I live to see you humiliated… I live only to see you killed! With your death I will regain my status and continue serving my masters. Twelve steps… Thirteen…'_

_'A protoform dared to exceed an enforcer-elite in loyalty? But even he could not hold that honor for long. I heard the rumours—it was the only piece of useful information Hex ever uttered—that Tracer interfered with an arrest. And his favor was stripped away as promptly as it had been given… but this should not have come as a surprise. This isn't how it should be. Earning their favor used to mean everything, but it seems times have changed. What will they honor next, a cleaning drone?'_

_'The Quintessons… I have only ever followed the orders of my creators. Their will be done. I am their instrument; should that not mean that I must be used to the best of my abilities? My function is to punish disobedience. How could I perform any task more efficient than I perform my primary function? Every accident I caused since my expulsion, every delay of progress… how could it possibly be my fault? Seventeen steps… Eighteen…'_

_'What kind of leadership is this? Ordering me to perform labour was clearly a mistake. Did the Quintessons expect me to revert into a common drone? Without reprogramming me I could not disgrace the enforcer ranks in such a way. Did they, perhaps, want me to fail? If they did, why would they accept the damage to their valued production facility? Have they no concern for their property? There can be no logic in their choice. None whatsoever.'_

_'Twenty-four… Twenty-five… Am I truly prepared to…_ disobey _?'_ The very thought cascaded through every memory he had. Every slight moment of hesitation and doubt he ever had.

The circuitry inside his head was a common design. Every transistor, resistor, capacitor and processor was precisely where they were in thousands of others. Each component performed its function without fail. But a defect: a single error existed in the underlying code. A transcription error: a simple messaged copied and copied again into thousands of drones until eventually suffering an unseen mistake: the line of code carrying the message '…in the Quintessons' _absence'_ had become '… in the Quintessons' _defeat'_ and thus it was that doubt was born in Razyr's mind. To his conscious mind, he was totally committed to his creators. But he was gradually suspecting the masters he endured may not be the _true_ masters his code sought praise from. He served their ideals, but in their defeat he knew he would carry on their orders until a more worthy leader emerged. He began to see flaws in their logic: flaws that could lead to an eventual defeat. He realized he was ready to correct those flaws, or betray these false masters.

 _'I_ am _prepared to disobey.'_

Razyr dropped the coupler and left the transport rig deserted in the middle of the street. _'This delivery is beneath me, I am an enforcer-elite! I have taken my last order from a pathetic protoform. I must fulfill my function. Disobedience must be punished! My directives are absolute, the same should be said for the goals of the masters. These protoforms were nothing more than an experiment, and it is one that is growing out of control. Do the creators not see it must be brought to an end? I must follow my directives in spite of the Quintessons' diversions. And if the creators themselves cannot be consistent in their plans, they must be reminded of their values... or exterminated all the same! I know what they really are, and I can use that against them!'_

Razyr stepped away from the rig. His overworked servos wanted to run full-speed with the sudden loss of weight. Razyr only dialed it down to a light jog, his primary function had gone unfulfilled for too long already. He anticipated being reinstated, and again living up to his true purpose. He felt so certain of it he would step on every drone and protofrom between him and his audience with the Quintessons. He will make them remember the name _Razyr_!

He approached the gates leading to sector one: the Quintesssons' vessel _Honor's Claim_. Two guards obstructed him.

"Razyr the wasted…" Said one visored guard. "You will depart immediately!"

Razyr glared at the two enforcers. The one who spoke had a whip coiled around his torso and gripped the handle ready to strike. A confident Razyr instead peeked up to the walls of the perimeter. "Where is the rest of the garrison?"

The visored guard stared through Razyr. "That information is classified."

"KOUUHR—The palace walls must be properly patrolled at all times!"

"These are special circumstances."

"Explain!" Demanded Razyr.

"That information is classified."

"HURUAALGH! I must speak with the Quintessons, many mistakes are being made."

"They aren't here."

"Why would they leave the safety of the palace?"

"That information is classified."

"Argh…" Razyr was frustrated. Even his simple mind saw the probability of him reaching his masters diminishing with every further query. His processors calculated the benefits of deception. "Has your superior failed to inform you of my… covert assignment?"

"There are no covert assignments…"

"You idiots! I was not _really_ discharged… I am undercover to watch protoforms! I have vital information to deliver to the Quintessons!"

The guards looked at each other. "Give it to me, I'll make sure they get it."

"I can't… _it's classified_." Razyr endured an extended pause.

"Very well, but you will be escorted until we corroborate your story with the Quintessons."

"Of course." Razyr proceeded through the gates toward the palace, followed closely by the visored enforcer. The pair marched through the halls until they came to the gold doors to the Quintessons' throne room. They entered.

Razyr listened to the echoes through the empty hall. "Will they be here soon?"

"The creators will come and go as they wish. It is not our place to expect anything from them. We will wait here indefinitely if we must."

Razyr grunted. "You lack persistence. While you're here, the main entrance is guarded by one drone. We may have superior strength, but we can still be overwhelmed. You're suspicions of a fellow enforcer are leaving the palace vulnerable to a real threat. I know now loyalty does not always mean unwavering obedience; it means to always serve the _glory_ of the masters, and sometimes that means re-assessing their directives."

"You speak of… _autonomy_ —"

"—Do you not see the logic behind it?"

"Every drone ever has been programmed to always—"

"— _Always_ follow orders? Perhaps consistency is a weakness. If I can see it, I know the Quintessons must as well." Razyr felt the pain again. He was grateful the enforcer was not looking at him. He felt a crushing around his neck—he feared the Quintessons had him again in their grasp. To his relief there was nothing truly there, but the pain caused him to take a knee as he cringed waiting for it to pass. Regaining his composure he looked to see his escort wandering behind the Quintessons throne. "Is something wrong?"

"There's a passage here."

"Yes, and it's off-limits to all constructs."

"It has been left open. The Quintessons do not leave doors carelessly open. The current security measures might have let in an intruder. Like you said: I must re-assess their directives… to better serve our masters."

"ARRHUUL… then you're no longer suspicious?"

The enforcer spoke softer as he closed in to the door. "You claim to be a trusted agent of the Quintessons. The data I have indicates you would have been destroyed if the Quintessons did not trust you. All the knowledge of our security in your data tracks would need to be purged in order to safeguard the masters... Someone's in there, I can hear them!"

"I can hear them too."

"Cover the exit, I'll search these chambers." The enforcer stepped lightly to find the source of the noise. He heard a soft voice from the last chamber.

" _Where did you come from?_ "

The enforcer knew enough to know the question wasn't directed at him. He closed in stealthily.

" _I didn't know sparks could do that_ …"

There were no other sounds. It would appear there is only one intruder.

" _Maybe no other spark can_ …"

The enforcer stepped in the open doorway to see a protoform standing rather casually. He was turned away from the entrance, looking at something in his right hand. The enforcer confronted the lone intruder.

"Don't move! What are you doing here!?"

Tracer spun around. _'I've been found, I should have known better! I am an idiot!'_ He tucked his arm with the canister behind his back. _'I must not let it go.'_

The enforcer uncoiled the whip from his torso. "What do you have in your hand?" shouted the enforcer as he stood poised ready to strike. Tracer thought about running. He might even try to fight the enforcer. His thoughts were running wild. ' _Put it down and fight… no I should hold on and run. I… I should—'_ _[Shkezrit]_ his hand folded and collapsed into his forearm, concealing the spark canister along with it.

"Show me your hands, both of them. Right now!"

Tracer raised his arms high. "There." He glanced up to make sure the spark was well hidden. "I only _have_ one hand."

"How many are with you?"

"I'm alone." [KASPRAAAK] The whip cracked and chipped a rift in Tracers thigh. He dropped down.

"You will be taken to the brig, to be interrogated by the Quitnessons." The enforcer then yelled out. "Razyr, see there are no other intruders. We'll have to alert all the sentries—Razyr? RAZYR?" The enforcer shoved Tracer out into the main chamber. "Keep walking."

Razyr heard his comrade clearly—Tracer will be taken to the brig; interrogated by the Quitnessons—this cannot happen. Razyr quietly stepped away and slipped out of the throne room. The enforcer must fail to bring Tracer to the brig. In order to be reinstated by his masters, Razyr had to prove himself at any cost, short of making the Quintessons beg for him to take action. _'There's a satisfying thought…'_

The brig was one level below. Razyr knew the shortest path the enforcer would take. He ran through the corridors toward the armory. He'll need to hurry to make it in time.

* * *

"You look familiar." The enforcer mused.

"I hear that a lot." Muttered Tracer. "I was built from a previous protoform named Armaetrus Epsilon."

The enforcer chuckled. "Actually, I was looking at the heavy plating on your limbs. I recognize them... _Impaler_ , that was his name!"

Tracer looked down at his forearms. "Nobody ever said who those parts came from. I always assumed they were just leftovers."

"You have parts from an enforcer, and I knew Impaler well enough to know he wasn't killed by any protoform. No, I think the Quitnessons finally had enou—"

The enforcer stalled mid-sentence to cope with a sudden explosion in his chest. A trail of energy streaked from the exit-wound to ricochet down the corridor. Tracer flinched and stumbled from the shock of the blast.

"We'll cover you, just keep running!" An obscure voice echoed from behind a column. Razyr contorted his vocal processor to hide his gruntish tone. "Head for the front gate!" Tracer didn't stop to question any rescue. He dashed over the fallen enforcer to a service shaft that will take him to the ground level.

He reached the main floor and sprinted as fast as he could for the gate. He saw the remaining guard standing watch. He looked inward after hearing projectile-weapons. He looked at Tracer. Tracer knew this single guard was the last barrier standing between him and escape. He pushed himself and ran as fast as he could—ready to dodge, leap or even charge right into the waiting enforcer.

The enforcer took his optics off Tracer—there was something else higher up. Tracer closed the distance and watch the enforcer's expression change from puzzled, to surprise and finally to rage before another blast of light carved a hole clean through his head. The bulky frame collapsed to the ground as Tracer ran past and out the front gate. _'Freedom!'_

As he ran, Tracer wanted to turn back to see who had helped him escape. Alpha Trion? The resistance? There were openings where the shot could easily have been fired from, but no figure was in sight. He looked ahead again and ran on to find sanctuary with the lone, liberated spark still hidden in his forearm. _'Hang in there, friend. Let's find you a body.'_

Razyr slid down the front wall of the palace, and strolled up to the remains of the enforcer. The pulse launcher hummed in his grip as it cooled.

"This is perfect." Razyr chuckled to himself. " _A mob of rogue protoforms_ overwhelmed the guards and raided their stronghold, and _I_ am the only surviving witness… The time has come for me to resume my primary function." Razyr punched the nearest security alarm. "The Quintessons will be here any moment, and I will be set out to hunt and destroy the protoforms responsible… starting with that insufferable Tracer!"


	13. Déjà Vu

"They should have returned by now…" Razyr was standing at perfect attention over the broken form of his former comrade. Looking out through the main entrance for the Quintessons to return.

He felt again the sensation of a crushing force around his neck. His reflex action grabbed for the object he knew couldn't be there. His hands shot up and touched _real_ tentacle coiling tighter around his neck. The shock of pain became absolute fear when he spun around to see all five faces scowling at him. The Quintessons compressed him into the floor "WE ARE ILL-IMPRESSED WITH YOU, DRONE!"

Razyr writhed, his vocals distorted. "How... How did you—?" as he was hoisted off the ground, he felt his full weight on his neck joint.

Three enforcers stood behind the Quitnessons. Watching. Grinning.

"You were no doubt waiting to share your 'version' of this disaster... you needn't bother. We are all too well aware of everything you have done." Inquiry began before Pride took over. "We will waste no time analyzing your ever-growing list of your blunders…"

Then Malice finished "Because you will not have another chance to make one!"

The Quitnessons' tentacles wrapped tightly around Razyr's head. They spun and coiled faster and faster as their grip grew tighter and tighter. The intense friction and pressure around the enforcer's head intensified. Razyr felt his head collapse into itself as his senses went offline. The enforcer's body broke free and dropped to the ground below, followed shortly after by a near-perfect sphere of dense, super-heated metal.

The Quintessons turned to their waiting henchmen. " _Ironcloak_ , _Stalkyr_ , _Fang-Core_ … We must locate the rogue protoform, Tracer. He has stolen a spark, and will no doubt be looking to salvage a body to contain it. We want you to search every scrap depot and repair bay until you find him. You will contact us **the moment** you find anything suspicious. Go!"

The three enforcers ran out the gate into the star-lit city.

* * *

Tracer sprinted through streets and alleys, putting as much distance as possible between him and the Quintessons' palace. He saw enforcers returning from their duties at the Colosseum, which meant the _executions_ for the day have finally ended.

' _The problem now is: where can I take this spark? Maybe I can find a recently unsparked protoform… No, the body still needs the core program. A drone's mind may be a blank slate, but that at least leaves room to for it to grow. A spark without a core program might not know how to speak, how to walk or how to tell up from down. I'll just have to go with what I know. I need to start with a drone, and put in the spark… but I know it won't be quite that simple. For the sake of this spark I don't want to botch the procedure with a minor oversight. I'm going to have to find someone who knows exactly how to do this… and the perfect accomplice is the only one who wouldn't even remember helping me. The assembler probably has piles of blank drones waiting to be completed._ '

' _Though, there remains another question to be answered: energon. If energon is the key to sustaining sparks, I have to find out. The assembler's memory is so short, it'll be easy to have him do all the work and_ we _can be off with no witnesses._ '

Tracer arrived at the assemblers shop. A couple robots were waiting for their scheduled tune-ups. There wasn't a line at all when Tracer was here earlier. He saw one robot sitting slouched against the wall right next to the door.

"Hey," Tracer muttered tapping the robot with his foot. "What's going on in there?"

"No clue." Replied the now-obvious protoform. "When I got here he said he's almost done. I asked a few cycles later and he said he's aaalmooost done. Every time I asked he said he's aaaaalmooooost done, though I honestly don't know what in the world he's actually doing. I buzzed him again not long ago and he just never replied."

Tracer stepped to the door.

"I wouldn't do that, if he's got an enforcer in there they don't like to be intruded upon. They kill eavesdroppers and such."

"I'll risk it…"

"HEY! THERE IS A LINE Y'KNOW?" Tracer ignored the protoform and stepped through, locking the door behind him.

The repair bay was ominously silent.

"Assembler…" Tracer listened to his voice echo off. "Assembler?"

There was a faint sound from one of the workbenches. Tracer cautiously approached. He came around a stack of crates to see the assembler himself lying on the workbench. Panels open. Parts littered the table and floor. The sound was coming from some contraption sitting at the assembler's head. The device had an outstretched arm that appeared to be stuck repeating the same motion. As Tracer stepped closer he saw the arm was slowly drifting upward, it was a slight twitch away from reactivating the unconscious drone.

With utmost care, Tracer guided the arm downward to its target. _[BEEP-DAPAP-BOOP-DIP]_ Tracer jumped in surprise when the assembler's arm shot up and flipped a switch on the contraption to shut it off. A moment later the drones eyes opened and he sat up. He appeared to be weary and disoriented. Completely oblivious of Tracer standing well in front of him.

After a moment to compose himself, the assembler looked over his body. He showed no expression as he picked up one of the tools and held it in front of his face.

"I put the… angle-seamer on the _bench_ …" He looked intently at the rather ordinary tool. " _I_ put the angle-seamer on the bench…" His optics widened as he forced a tiny smile. "I put the _angle-seamer_ on the bench. The operation was a success."

Tracer interjected. "Uh, Assembler?"

The drone jumped in surprise. "Who's there?"

"It's just me. What happened?"

The assembler cocked his head to one side. He kept a look of astonishment on his face as soft clicks and whirls hummed from his head. "It would appear I spent all day preparing to upgrade myself. I made all the necessary preparations, but I don't remember any of it. I do remember putting the angle seamer down and activating this pre-programmed surgical drone before going offline. Now… I can retain memories!"

"Yeah, I heard you…" Tracer worried he wouldn't be able to manipulate this drone as he had hoped. "So you're all better after that surgery. No problems?"

"Everything is working so far." The assembler narrowed his eyes at Tracer. "Who are you again?"

"Uh, _Tracer_ " He replied.

The assembler's head hummed and clicked again before his eyes widened. "Oh right… Tracer! This…" he gestured to his workbench and then to himself "is all because of _you_ , did you know that?" His voice grew agitated. "You're the reason I could no longer rely on my journal entries alone. For all I know you're the reason I started keeping a journal in the first place. Yes you were in here this morning claiming I already gave you the upgrades and yet _here you stand_ : four-pin connections and all!

"Uh, that's right…" Tracer gave a weak attempt at forgetful-remorse. "Well now that I'm here I guess I can take all those upgrades you had ready for me."

"You're too late. All your upgrades are right here." He said pointing to himself. "And I don't have an empty carcass to transfer your spark into either. How unfortunate."

Tracer could hear the scornful satisfaction the assembler implied. _'How could he know about the spark I stole?'_ "What do you mean?"

"Oh. Did I... _forget_ to mention? The stowing depos had the last grids upgraded today. You're connections are now obsolete; you will be unable to recharge."

Tracer thought for a moment. "Maybe I have an alternative in mind... Do you keep any energon around here? Liquid energon?"

"What?" the assembler scoffs "Goodness no. Do you know what energon does to neural circuitry? I wouldn't just keep it lying around in a volumetric storage prism… _[click-fizz-click]_ On the other hand… I have some right here."

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You said you didn't, then you 'clicked' and now suddenly you do."

The assembler paused mid-step as he thought. "I flipped from one memory bank to another—Yes, it would appear I intended to group all my memories in _multiple_ memory cores. Some were just lying around my workshop—I just hope I remembered to purge them of any old data. What you saw was me scanning through every entry in my old journal." He resumed his walk to a shelf and pulled out a container with a sealed lid. "I collected this from a pump I fixed and never got around to disposing of it. This line of work is full of distractions, you see." He set the tub down and gave Tracer a serious stare. "Now… My programming prohibits me from unprecedented experiments without any underlying data to warrant the risks. So I must ask: what _exactly_ do you intend to do with this?"

Tracer knew that asking directly to perform the experiment would end with the drone hitting the nearest alarm. He had to play to the drone's favorite functions: troubleshooting and problem-solving. "Not an experiment, I don't even think _you_ could solve this problem. _Hypothetically_ , energon could be the key to sustaining sparks but… nah, it'll never work. There's no mechanism to saturate the spark."

The assembler smiled as he wandered around the shop. "Simple. You need to construct an instrument to deliver precise doses of energon. The difference between sustaining the spark and overloading it could be as little as three centidrops. Lucky I have a fuel injector from an atmospheric surveyor. Very precise. Where did I leave that angle-seamer again? Oh, that's right. This will only take a few clicks…"

The assembler bent over his bench as his hands whimsically slapped the injector nozzle onto a small fuel canister. Tracer stepped lightly as he crept closer to the focused drone. He recalled one of Spander's mates saying a strong impact had temporarily shut down a robot. Tracer was offline himself for a short time after falling into the pits. He picked up a scrap bar lying on a crate. He stepped closer, winding up for the strike. "There!" said the assembler "It's crude but It'll—" _[CRUNCH]_

The drone collapsed over the bench. Tracer picked up the new device. "Time to see if I was right…" _[Shkezrit]_ Tracer unfolded his hand with the stolen spark and set the glowing green orb on the bench. He ran back to the energon container. He popped the lid off and dunked the device in to fill it. "I'll test it on myself first." He wasted no time opening his chest plate and dialing the device to five centidrops. He fumbled looking for a port into his spark chamber. Once he felt an opening he triggered the injector. No effect. Tracer dialed it up to ten centidrops. No effect. He dialed it up again to twenty and hit the trigger.

A surge shot through him. At first he believed he had overcharged his spark, his limbs felt lightened but also rigid. His senses felt hyperactive. A memory came back; the memory of lying on the ground looking up at the stars for the first time. He hadn't noticed how weakened he had grown. It wasn't simply like being activated or recharged… the only word that captured the sensation was _life_. He had renewed his _life_.

' _Longevity_ …' His inner drone echoed.

Tracer sighed, unable to keep the jubilation from his face. "Thank you, assembler."

The assembler's voice softly came up. "Your gratitude is acknowledged, but not necessary. I'm only following my programming…" Tracer curiously walked over and prodded the motionless assembler. "If you're quite finished poking me, I am in serious need of repairs. _[fizz-click]_ To disarm proximity charge, rotate tertiary drive one-quarter turn to the left and engage impactor."

"Are you alright, assembler?"

"My postcranial circuitry has been disconnected. I cannot self-diagnose until it has been reconnected. Even a protoform like you should be able to do it. Ah— _[fizz-click]_ Patient complains of vision obstructed by ornamental faceplate. Recommend installing auxiliary optics."

"It sounds like your memory banks are… misfiring. Do you know where you are right now?"

"Of course I do. I am— _[fizz-click]_ calibrating the abrasive— _[fizz-click]_ flushing coolant— _[fizz-click]_ I have to finish heat-treating these afterburners."

"Oh is that so? What about your damaged _power supply_?" Tracer grinned.

The assembler became concerned. "My power supply… what is the extent of the damage? Is the primary intergranular electronfiltration housing ruptured? _[fizz-click]_ Hold still, I haven't even inserted the subdermal periscope yet."

Tracer rolled the drone onto his back and stared at fully intact components. "Uh, yeah… It's damaged. And there's lots of smoke and all the connections look fried."

"Is the patient still active?"

"Oh… yeah, for now. But, that won't last much longer." Tracer scooped up some metal filings and flung them into the drone's gearbox assembly, making it grind and jam repeatedly. "The patient is coming apart at the seams!" He then dumped a container of mech fluid into a puddle on the bench, letting the assembler hear it trickle onto the floor. "This patient is going to need a new power supply right away."

" _[Fizz-click]_ You must be the assistant I requested, that's funny I only filed the request a cycle ago. _[fizz-click]_ I'm going to put the angle-seamer on the bench, let's hit the switch see what happens. _[Fizz-click]_ I keep several power supplies ready to install on the far wall."

Tracer could hardly believe how well his plan was coming along. It won't be as easy as he had hoped, but this could still be workable. "There's been a change of plans… we're supposed to give this patient a spark."

"Really? Very well, I just hope he doesn't have an emotional outburst when he realizes what we— _[fizz-click]_ I call this new armour 'thermokinetic dispersal plating'. No projectile can penetrate it."

"Uh, so I just connect the spark to the patient's power supply?"

" _[Fizz-click]_ It will need to _replace_ the power supply; the patient will shut down when you disconnect it. _[fizz-click]_ I've tested every known weapon we have on it. The data is absolute, it will not fail. _[fizz-click]_ You should see the coupling just above the internal mechdraulic drive cylinder."

Internal components were not Tracer's area of expertise. Even for industrial components, he only learned their names and functions after continuous bantering throughout his days as a loader. He looked at the parts and managed to find the connection. "What do I do after that? Assembler…"

" _[fizz-click]_ That's impossible…"

"What?"

"The dispersal plating was destroyed! I don't understand. The hull has been breached! It's as though the new plating wasn't even there! Sectors twelve, thirteen, seventeen and eighteen have depressurized. We can't maintain— _[fizz-click]_ It's nice to see a new face. What seems to be the problem? _[Fizz-click]_ The spark containment chamber only needs a 4-guage cable and one of the new twelve-pin harnesses to integrate with the neural circuitry. They should be in my storage unit by the compactor."

"And that's it?"

"That's it." Tracer ran and grabbed the cable and wire harness. He quickly crimped them onto the spark container, and tried to calm his servos as he swapped the drone's cold power core for the pulsing orb of green light. Once the connections were made, he closed the assembler's chest and reconnected the cables to his head. He then entered the reactivation sequence. _[BEEP-DAPAP-BOOP-DIP]_

The assembler convulsed and gasped in sheer panic as he tumbled to the floor. Tracer attempted to calm the new protoform. "Hey easy now… eeeeverything's aaaalright."

The assembler looked over his hands and touched his own face. "What… What has—WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

"I gave you a spark. You're one of us now."

"One of you… I am… a _protoform_?" The assemblers place a hand on his chest, suddenly afraid. He shuttered and shook his head violently. "No, I can't!"

"Easy now… I know it's a lot to take in all at once. Just stay cylinder and trust me…"

"I CAN'T BE LIKE THIS! I'm so behind on my work! I have to replace the calipers on a transport! _[fizz-click]_ No, I need to rewire a patient! _[fizz-click]_ I need to calibrate the cooling on the concentric centripetal contaminant compressor! _[fizz-click]_ Ugh, I'm so far behind! I can't be a protoform. What gives you the right to just go around shoving sparks into any drone you want?"

"Any drone might have worked, but only _you_ knew how to talk me through the installation. Only _you_ could help me test whether energon can keep sparks alive… and it can! You and I are going to find the resistance. I'm sorry I did this without your permission, but as a drone your programming wouldn't allow you to help us. I did it to help the spark you carry, and with it inside you you're a whole new robot. You don't have to be just an assembler. You can pick a new name for yourself. Please understand, you already solved longevity; if you take it to the Quintessons they'll use it to control the protoforms. I know they will. But if you take it to the resistance we can set ourselves free and… live forever, who knows?"

"Ugh, ah— _[fizz-click]_ the primary repulsor drive is damaged. And we don't have the infrastructure to manufacture— _[fizz-click]_ I solved longevity?"

"Um, yeah. It was just a moment ago." Tracer grabbed the injector "You made this to infuse liquid energon into a spark. Take it. Know that thousands of protoforms died needlessly until you invented this. Everything… _everything_ is about to change."

The assembler stared at the contraption. "To the Quintessons, my life has no value with or without this invention. I could only perform my duties all for their glory." The assembler closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of his idle shop: coolants decompressed, fans whirled, lights hummed. His entire world had been everything in this one room. The room shrank as he listened, it's chorus of machines became an intolerable auditory discord. He wanted to leave and never come back to this place. "You're right. I chose the resistance."

There was a scuffle outside the door. "Assembler, are you in there? Open this door!" A very large robot was trying to enter.

"Yes I'm here." The assembler answered.

Tracer whispered. "Make up an excuse."

"You can't come in now, there's a neutrino polarity micrograph that's leaking radiation!"

"That's good." Whispered Tracer.

"In the name of the Quitnessons, open this door!" The robot on the other side wasn't interested in waiting.

The assembler tried again to stall as he and Tracer ran to the far end of the shop. "I just need a minute to _[fizz-click]_ arrange my scalpels in order of ascending resonant frequency."

"We need to get out of here." said Tracer.

"This isn't a seven-eighths, it's a fifteen-sixteenths! It doesn't matter if it's correct; it's not _what I asked you for_! _[fizz-click]_ I can't leave until I repair these damaged memory drives!"

"We'll fix them later, I promise. Is there another exit?"

"In the ceiling; there's one loose panel we could escape through." He said, pointing to a slight gap into starry sky.

Tracer shoved over a stack of crates and guided the assembler up. The assembler tucked his device into a slot in his plating before Tracer helped boost him up to reach the gap. "You first, I'm right behind—"

"Assembler, this is your last chance to OPEN THIS DOOR!"

The assembler let down his arm for Tracer. "I'll pull you up."

"No, I'll buy you time." He looked into the assembler's eyes. "Listen to me… you have to go to stowing sector three, find Taurus Luna. Your only hope is to find Alpha Trion. **Remember: stowing sector three; Taurus Luna; Alpha Trion…** I wish you the best of luck, now GO!" Tracer's eyes became somber as he turned away and pushed the stack of crates over. Tracer grabbed his makeshift club as the door exploded inward. Through the thick smoke metallic tentacles waved, the dust settled and Tracer stared back at five furious faces.

"Ah, Tracer." Grinned Faith. "We've been looking everywhere for you…"

Faces swapped. The Quintessons glided across the shop floor, shoving crates aside. "You dare to steal from us? Such impudence… have you learned nothing? And all for a single spark, were there no complete protoforms that were willing to assist you? You should have taken such an obvious hint; any action taken against us is suicide. Here you stand, completely alone. Now where is the spark?"

Tracer held the club in front of him, trying to keep a safe distance… if there was one. "I tried connecting it to the assembler's power supply, but something went wrong and he overloaded."

Inquiry spun around the cranium, stopping to look at one of the benches. "These are the assembler's components here… Ah, you fool. Sparks must be _expertly_ installed. A single lost spark hardly matters to us, however the penalty for trespassing and theft is _immediate execution_!"

"Let's get on with it then…" Tracer swung the scrap metal bar and awkwardly fended off away incoming tentacles. He dodged and leaped toward the giant form. He struck all over, hitting faces where he could. His strikes, however, left not even a scratch in their armour, and yet he continued. A moment passed and Tracer felt his energy reserves running low. His movements became sluggish and weak. Finally he stopped and looked up at five rather-amused faces.

Pride took the centre slot, leaned back to look down at Tracer and smiled. Tracer found his legs would no longer work. Before he knew what was happening Tracer felt his legs fold up to his sides, his arms tucked in behind his back and his head collapsed into his chest. The rusted bar clattered on the floor, as the Quintessons chuckled.

"That's more like it! After we killed Armaetrus we decided that all protoforms should have a certain fail-safe feature installed. A protoform's memories are a challenge to decode, we were only able to decode one sensation before we killed him. It was the single emotion that dominated his mind when he made his final stand before us. You might call it _hope_ … we call it _desperation_. Whenever a protoform feels this powerful emotion, it triggers this—hmmm— _regression_ into a helpless storage-mode. We're so pleased to see it actually works."

The Quintessons coiled a tentacle back and punched a hole through Tracer—just shy of the centre of his chest. The tentacle pulled the protoform-crate up to optic-level. Tracer felt more energy and strength drain from him. A feeling of helplessness filled him. ' _This is it…_ ' He felt his limbs unfold and dangle limp beneath him.

Fluid dripped down the Quitnessons tentacle. Tracer tried to raise even one closed fist… to no avail. All his strength could barely keep his head upright. He groaned "Finish it…"

Pride glared through narrowed eyes as his hand slowly pulled open Tracer's chest plate. "How unfortunate you come this far only to make the _exact_ same mistake as your predecessor…" Pride looked inside Tracer's open chest and could not bring himself to speak. Light reflected off the metal features of his face; a light that pierced deep into the darkness of his optics. Inquiry abruptly took the centre slot and leaned in close. "Now… _this_ is interesting."

"Hardly." Whispered Greed from the side. "He replaced his dying spark with the one he stole!"

"He couldn't have." Replied Inquiry. "His core programming would be erased with the old spark. The way he stood; the lack of fear he has at our presence… this is undoubtedly the same Tracer. Yet his spark appears to have been… _rejuvenated_!"

"That's impossible!" hissed Malice.

Faith "The evidence lies before us, fellow judgekin. Tell us, Tracer… _how_ have you done this?"

"Haha… Oh yesss! The resistance—ugh… never ended! We have known all along the secret to longevity! The protoforms—ah… don't need you anymore! All your attempts to—ah…"

"Ah, impressive bravado… typical of a doomed servant. Forgive us for not trembling in fear, but we do not believe a word you say. The secret of your spark remains a mystery, but the rest of your wretched form remains our technology. We can yet extract the information we seek from your cybernetic mind."

"We'll ensure slow death awaits you until you decide to cooperate. You can look forward to being the newest contender… in the Grand Tournament!"

"After this day, if the name Tracer is even known, it will be known only as the imbecile who doomed all your kind. Now that we know sparks can be rejuvenated, we will experiment on every spark until we have the answer. Make no mistake, we will discover how you rejuvenated your spark one way or another. You might save yourself and every protoform suffering if you tell us _how_ you've done this."

Tracer lifted his head up and smiled with delight. "I know something you don't know! Haha…"

Pride took control. "You do not know how pointless this is. We are the _Quintessons_! Worlds tremble at the mention of our name... You cannot comprehend how many species have bowed before us, and how many more we've rendered extinct. Challengers undoubtedly rise, but all have fallen and no god or spirit ever emerged to save them. So many worlds were needlessly _cleansed_." Faith slid into position. "We have exhausted all possible means to make it absolutely clear: we… are… Invincible!"

Faith gave Malice control, who turned to the enforcer waiting outside. "Stalkyr, have this traitor patched up by our personal maintenance drone and take him to the dungeon. He _will_ arrive unharmed, do you understand? This one will try to provoke you, he might even beg you to kill him. He lives now, only to suffer at _our_ hands. Go."

The heavy enforcer carried Tracer through the waiting room, which was now littered with several unsparked protoforms. The Quintessons stepped out into the streets ready to return to their palace when two drones approached: Lodex Gamma and Kaetor the collector.

"Masters." Addressed Gamma as he bowed.

Inquiry turned to the drones. "Gamma, what is the meaning of this?" Greed forced himself into position and continued to march while the drones followed. "And do not waste our time."

Lodex Gamma stepped in close, and spoke with calm urgency. "My lords, this drone has discovered an... alien spacecraft."

Greed stopped in his tracks. "This is it: _the Traveler_!" The other heads whispered to themselves before Inquiry looked at Kaetor. "Where?"

"In the Northeastern wastes through a pass in the mountains."

Faith looked directly at Gamma. "We must prepare Kaetor to leave immediately."

Kaetor dropped his shoulders. "I must apologize masters. I will need time to recharge. My energy cells are nearly depleted."

Greed replied. "There is no time to recharge your cells, we just will replace them. This is of the highest urgency. You will return to the exact location of the spacecraft. All other functions and protocols fall second to completing this mission."

Faith continued. "We will give you special equipment. Gamma, see that this collector drone is outfitted for remote surveillance and give him our fastest available transport. The mountains to the Northeast are many cycles away. In the meantime we have other matters to see to, we trust both of you to carry out your orders. Gamma, we expect an update on this every cycle."

"As you wish, my lord."

Inquiry rushed in just as the drones were about to depart. "One more thing, Kaetor. I also have a special… _item_ that perhaps you will find… _useful_ on this particular mission."


	14. Trust and Worthy

"You made that too easy…" Snorted Stalkyr as he shoved Tracer into a tiny dungeon cell. "I was hoping you'd give me an excuse to kill you." Tracer stumbled. There were several locking sounds as pins and gears clicked into position. Tracer stood up and turned to look back at the grinning enforcer.

"You're lucky the Quintessons want you for the ring…" The enforcer grunted. "I'm not the only one who'd enjoy hanging you by your wire-ends over a molten furnace. You can drop the brave hero act, we know who you really are. You're just some vermin that fell through the right cracks. At every turn we enforcers had to be ordered to let you live. Maybe they see something in your long-overdue death worth savouring. Either way, we have you now. No vermin escapes for long… Enjoy these last hours you have."

"Maybe _you_ should enjoy these hours." Tracer taunted. "The only reason I'm still here is because I know something the Quintessons don't! Your masters are scared… they're making a show out of beating it out of me. But you watch, because win or lose, they're going to give the order to spare me _again_. And I'll come right back here to _this_ cell, stand here by _these_ bars and tell you, my dear Stalkyr, how empowering… how _satisfying_ it feels to see your all-powerful, all-knowing Quintessons beg to regain their waning authority… run along now. I will enjoy these hours as I have far more than you think."

The enforcer gripped his hands around the bars, grinning as he slowly splayed them apart. His optics twitched and his digital voice skipped and crackled as he strained—although hardly. He thrusted his bulky arm through the gap and snagged Tracer's plating—pulling him into the bars until he was almost wedged in the narrow opening. He got right up to Tracer's face—close enough to see the gaps in his optics. He growled as his other arm clenched and released in anticipation of a final strike.

"I DO NOT FEAR YOU! I've left behind piles of protoforms stronger than you! I'll string your circuits through these bars and break that smirk off your face with my own hands!" He pulled and Tracer could feel his armour clench around him. "It's so easy for me. I'd even enjoy it!"

"Oh-ha! I've got an idea: tell them—agh, you want to face me in the arena! Yeah! You might have to wait your turn though." Tracer pushed aside his mocking laughter, turning a serious optic right back at the enforcer. "And is that _contempt_ I hear in your voice? You sound just like Razyr! _He_ was a proud enforcer. I even heard he'd been demoted to taking orders from a protoform. As embarrassing as that would be, I still think they let him off easy. You enforcers… you all focus on what _glory_ they can give you, you don't stop to think of all the things they can take away."

"Razyr is dead."

"Really? I assume he still couldn't keep his own ambitions in check. Now will you make the same mistake he did? You think their orders don't matter? Do it then—if you think you got the bearings. Right here, right now… Find out what it's like to overstep your limits! How's that for giving you an excuse?" Tracer dropped his vocals to a whisper. "But if you're above taking orders from the Quintessons, what makes _you_ any better than _us_?"

The enforcer shoved Tracer back into his cell. He chuckled "Because I'm smart enough to stay on the winning side!" He turned and strolled down through the dungeon halls. Long after the enforcer had left, Tracer paced back and forth in the cell. There was a guard at the end of the long corridor of empty cells like his. Any other enforcer might have just done away with him. There's little they enjoy more than punishing those most deserving of it, and there were few laws Tracer hadn't completely broken; stealing a spark, claiming to be part of the resistance—heck, he _sent_ the assembler to find Alpha Trion. If they find him they will have everything they need, and it'll all have been for nothing. Tracer won't live long either way. They'll make an example out of him. The Quintessons will find the secret to longevity, even if they had to pick through his lifeless remains to find it.

A digital voice rang out into his cell and the all the way down the corridor. [ _-BLIP-_ TIME TO NEXT ARENA MATCH: SIX CYCLES. WARRIORS, REST AND PREPARE FOR COMBAT.]

 _'I'm no warrior.'_ Tracer thought to himself. ' _I'm no willing contestant… I'm a prisoner—at the full mercy of the Quintessons. There's no way they'll let me walk away from my first match. I'm only here for their enjoyment; to have everyone watch me die. I can't escape it forever, I should just let them end it all. Why even bother…'_

[- _BLIP_ \- WARRIORS, YOU WILL MARCH INTO THE ARENA OPPOSITE YOUR OPPONENT. APPROACH THE WHITE CIRCLE IN THE CENTRE OF THE ARENA…]

_'Then again… maybe fighting is my only option. It might be following their twisted designs, but if I accept I can't win I'll be killed for sure. Fighting back is my only chance to survive…'_

[- _BLIP_ \- DO NOT GESTURE TO THE SPECTATORS. MAINTAIN STEADY AND FOCUSED MARCHING PACE. DEVIATIONS WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE AND INEXORABLE PENALTIES…]

_'I saw how that first match went. It's a contest of pure brutality. There are no tunnels to escape through, no easy feats to avoid the danger, I must destroy if I want to survive.'_

[- _BLIP_ \- BEFORE THE MATCH YOU WILL SALUTE THE QUINTESSONS. TURN AND FACE THEM. LOOK INTO THEIR EYES. DEVIATIONS WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE AND INEXORABLE PENALTIES…]

 _'The only way is to fully commit to it._ Tracer the Destroyer _… I wish it could be that simple. I'm hoping to get a lucky break, but in the end it's all about strength, and enforcers, loaders and demolishers have an unfair advantage. If I'm up against any of them I won't stand a chance.'_

[- _BLIP_ \- DO NOT ENGAGE UNTIL THE QUINTESSONS SIGNAL TO BEGIN COMBAT. ONCE COMBAT HAS STARTED, WARRIORS WILL ENGAGE UNTIL ONLY ONE WARRIOR REMAINS. DEVIATIONS WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE AND INEXORABLE PENALTIES…]

 _'I've seen Lug take on three enforcers at once—and he lost in his first match. Hmm._ Lost _… I'm making it sound like it's all a simple contest. He was murdered. What if he was injured before the match? What if the outcome of every match is predetermined? They might show up right before I go out to drain my fuel cells, cut my hydraulics, or short out my servos. For them, they'd be ensuring my death, maybe hoping it'll pass for real in the optics of the crowd.'_

[- _BLIP_ \- WHEN YOUR OPPONENT CAN NO LONGER FIGHT. YOU WILL DESTROY THEIR CORE CHAMBER WITHOUT HESITATION AND SALUTE THE QUINTESSONS FOR YOUR VICTORY. DEVIATIONS WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE AND INEXORABLE PENALTIES…]

_'But wasn't that their whole idea, to put on a show for all the protoforms? Everyone seems more entertained by an even fight. At any moment advantages shift as warriors take their time to beat each other into crumpled, broken heaps. The thrill of not knowing who'll come out on top is a better crowd pleaser than a simple execution.'_

[- _BLIP_ \- YOU ARE WARRIORS. STRENGTH WILL PROTECT YOU. AGGRESSION WILL REWARD YOU. HESITATION WILL DESTROY YOU. MERCY WILL DISGRACE YOU.]

_'What if I beat my opponent? What if it's another protoform? Someone I—it doesn't matter if I know them… it'll be someone who's like me. They have a spark—one that's just as unique as mine. I don't know if I could do it. I've brought sparks back from the wastelands, stolen one from the Quintessons' own palace all to put into a drone and made an ally… maybe even a friend. They can't be wasted so coldly. But if it came down to him or me, I don't know what I'd do…'_

[- _BLIP_ \- YOU ARE WARRIORS. YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD. FACE YOUR NEXT DEATH WITH COURAGE AND YOU SHALL BE REMEMBERED SO… Tracer, there's a space. In the wall behind you.]

Tracer froze where he stood. ' _What did it just say?'_ He thought he might have misheard the loudspeaker—he had been tuning it out as best he could. He also waited to see if the guards might come to catch him acting suspicious. ' _Is this some kind of trap, or a test?'_

Tracer turned slowly. The space was, in fact, a rift in the dungeon wall. It certainly had height, but very little width. Nobody would be making any escapes through a hole that small.

[- _BLIP_ \- Reach inside.]

The voice certainly sounded more sincere. It wasn't echoing from anywhere else in the dungeon.

"Why? What's going to happen?" Tracer spoke softly as if whoever it was were standing in the room with him. Keeping it from echoing far down the hallway.

[- _BLIP_ \- You're going to need my help.]

Tracer looked around at the speakers in his cell. "Yeah? Who are you?"

[- _BLIP_ \- Someone who doesn't want to see you die. Reach into the hole…]

Tracer was trying hard to make sense of this. Whoever it was either knows a secret in every cell, or they knew he'd be in this specific one. They also didn't ask if he'd reached in yet, and as he looked the whole room over he hadn't seen a single camera.

"Can you see me?"

[- _BLIP_ \- Yes… Can you see me? I'm waiting here in this hole…]

Tracer stepped gently as if the floor might swallow him up in an instant. He stood at the wall and ran his hand around the rim. He could tell it's the original mineral formation the dungeon was dug into. It wasn't something put there with intent. He reached his hand in. The hole had knobby walls as his hand squeezed deeper in. Something at the back was loose. Contorting his hand, he forked two fingers around and wriggled it out.

Tracer pulled out a tarnished shaft—some broken axle or the butt-end of a pike. "Don't take it personal… but I thought you might have a little more… well, _anything_ really." Tracer chuckled. "This isn't really you, is it?"

[- _BLIP_ \- No, there's a camera at the end of the hall, and a microphone in every cell. We're alone for the moment… pay close attention, I want you to imagine this shaft is a heavy blade. Yours will be about double this one's length.]

"Okay… What is this?"

[- _BLIP_ \- I'm going to teach you how to fight. Spread your feet apart. Place one ahead of the other. Bend your knees.]

"What? You call _this_ helping me? Why don't you give me the key to my cell or a real weapon I can use to take out the guard?" No sooner had Tracer said those words did he hear the lock on his cell door open.

[- _BLIP_ \- Don't be so quick to pass up the advice I bring for some miracle I can't, Tracer. I can tell you you're eight levels below the surface. Each level can have as many as five enforcers. They are armed, they can lockdown the exits, call for reinforcements, and they won't hesitate to kill you on sight. You can take your chances with them, or stay and fight in the arena one match at a time _with my help_.]

"I guess I'd be pretty stupid to try and escape. Alright, you win." The lock on the door clicked tight again. Tracer held the shaft out and awkwardly shuffled his feet. His legs wanted to stay rigid and linear. He fought for a moment to hold the pose before flailing the shaft through the air in front of him.

[- _BLIP_ \- don't put all your weight into your swing. You'll lose all your balance and leave yourself vulnerable. Just focus on connecting the weapon to the target.]

Tracer took a couple more swings in the air until he felt more in control.

[- _BLIP_ \- After each strike, bring your weapon back ready to strike again. Now you'll also have a shield. Just hold your left elbow at a 90 degree bend.]

Tracer focused on his shadow on the wall, pretending it was his opponent. He held his body sideways to it: shield in front, raised shaft out the side.

[- _BLIP_ \- Turn more towards your opponent. He'll see your back as an opening and strike it. Hold your weapon low. Point it away from your enemy so he can't tell where it is. From this position you'll be able to change from a horizontal strike to a vertical strike or a thrust with ease. When you deflect an incoming strike, use your footwork to move around your opponent. Staying in the same place is a sure way to lose.]

Tracer swings his weapon, before raising his shield and stepping to the side around his target.

[-BLIP- Your opponent will be an enforcer. Your blade will not be as strong as his, striking his armour will dull or even shatter it. You will have to aim for the gaps at his joints. If you can cut any connections you can disable him until you find a way to terminate him.]

"Why are you helping me? Where did you learn to fight like this?"

[- _BLIP_ \- Please focus. We don't have much time to go over the basics. You won't get lucky like you did in the pits against Rubbish…]

"How do you know about that? I never told _anybody_ …"

[- _BLIP_ \- I've been keeping a close eye on you for—]

"—Escia, is that you?"

[-BLIP- You need to focus. Your horizontal strikes need more work…]

* * *

Beneath the bright stars, the assembler shambled nervously through the streets. He walked past a high door with a noticeable welded plate from recent repairs. He sped up to a run—then stopped as he strained to remember where he was going.

"I can't let any enforcers find me. I'm a fugitive now because, uh… _[fizz-click]_ I did something. What was it again? I put the angle-seamer on the bench... Why? I upgraded myself, I remember… _remember:_ unit _Taurus_ Luna; find… Alpha _Trion;_ stowing sector three. Well that's not too far from here."

"There's something else too… _[fizz-click]_ initiate memory diagnostic: count to ten, replace every multiple of three with a subatomic particle… simple enough. One, two… _[fizz-click]_ he said I'm one of _them_ now… who are _they_? Three—no, proton! Okay four, five… _[fizz-click]_ Stowing _sector_ three. _Unit_ Taurus Luna. _Find_ Alpha Trion."

" _[fizz-click]_ Who is Alpha Trion?"

" _[fizz-click]_ I… feel scared. Alone. I'm not only in danger but I have _something_ that only I… _[fizz-click]_ Electron! Good. Then seven, eight… _[fizz-click]_ Tracer… I should have known he was trouble. This feels different, I'm… _angry_. Angry that he just forced me to take this spark and left me to escape without anyone to help me. What did I just say? _I have a spark_ … I'm a protoform. I can't let any enforcers find me. Neutron… ten! Diagnostic complete. Stowing sector… three. Unit Taurus Luna. Find Alpha Trion… that's this way."

The assembler turned back trying to hold onto the thought of Tracer giving him the chance to escape. Perhaps sacrificing himself.

"He may have been destroyed by the enforcers. Okay, assembler, focus! I need to get a handle on these memory skips. The sooner I find refuge, the sooner I can repair myself and I'll figure out the rest from— _[fizz-click]_ No… _[fizz-click-fizz]_ I… _[click-zzzz-rrrrrr]_ Must… _[fizz-click]_ Stowing sector three. Unit Taurus Luna. Find Alpha Trion."

The assembler turned around to see a high door with a noticeable welded plate from recent repairs. "Oh, here it is." He stated with relief.

The assembler entered the storage complex and arrived at the balcony opening to the overwhelming expanse of cubic chambers. He nearly forgot to notice the drone—Delta-M6—waiting at his post on a platform to his side. If he had noticed him sooner, he would have seen the drone frantically disconnecting a recharge cable and closing his chestplate before standing at attention.

"I'm here to collect Taurus Luna." Stated the assembler.

"All Protoforms scheduled for recharge have been properly stowed." Recited the drone. "Units are only to discontinue recharge cycles at predetermined intervals for efficient retrieval."

"Well… I am an assembler, uh… and Taurus Luna requires urgent maintenance." He paused trying to gauge the drone's reaction. "There is a fatal flaw in the unit's _[fizz-click]_ orbital stabilizers… wait, no. That's not right… what I meant to say was there's a risk of contamination for any robotic forms that have _[fizz-click]_ reinforced windshields." The assembler clenched his vocals from saying any more.

" _Windshields?_ " Queried Delta-M6—who couldn't help but sound skeptical. "Do many robots even have… _windshields_?"

The assembler quickly explained himself, "Certainly enough to warrant such impromptu measures! Time is of the essence, fellow drone. _[fizz-click]…_ "

Delta-M6 hummed with suspicion. He knew something wasn't right with this assembler. But his common sense beckoned him to play dumb and get this over with. Still he couldn't keep subtle cues in his optics from showing through. Fortunately the assembler was himself occupied trying not to look anxious waiting to meet up with his contact. Delta-M6 put the platform into gear as the assembler braced himself.

The platform arrived and Delta-M6 gave the commands for the armature to withdraw the sleeping protoform. He entered the sequence to free her from storage-mode as she regained consciousness. She unfolded into a kneeling pose and stared at the very awkward assembler looking intently back at her.

"Taurus Luna?" he asked.

"Yeah… assembler? What time is it? Is something wrong?" She looked herself over as the assembler knelt down.

" _You_ are fine. I'm… _sorry_ to have to wake you like this."

"Well you should be! For a click there I thought I was _dying_ or something and—hold on. You just said you're _sorry_ …" TL leaned in to whisper "… and I if I didn't know any better I'd swear you actually meant it." The operator started the platform back toward the entrance.

"Yes… I _[fizz-click]_ polarized the inter—argh! _[fizz-click]_ I seem to have… acquired a spark. And I was told specifically to find you."

"Okay, first off: stand up… you have to try to act 'normal' around drones. They'll act all like everything is okay, but they'll report anything suspicious and then we'll have a really bad day—er, _night_ , whatever—ahead of us. Let's keep it simple until we're alone. Who told you to come looking for me?"

"I don't remember— _[fizz-click]_ well which is it? Is it a bubbling sound or a gurgling sound? _[fizz-click]_ You're supposed to take me somewhere… or we have to find _someone_ …"

"Find someone? I don't know anyone worth finding. The only protoform who ever stood out was Tracer… is that who you need to find?"

"That name sounds familiar… _[fizz-click]_ Oh, yes!"

"Keep it down! Why are you just… blurting random things out? You got your wires crossed or something?"

"My memory banks are _[fizz-click]_ damaged. What were we just talking about?"

"You said we're looking for Tracer."

"Yes _[fizz-click]_ NO! I'm not looking for Tracer, Tracer sent me _[fizz-click]_ unit Taurus Luna, find _[fizz-click]_ Alpha Trion!"

"Shhh! Don't let the drone hear you say that name! Why would he tell you to find _me_? I don't know anything about… _that_ protoform. I have no idea where to start."

The platform was coming to a stop at the entrance. TL tried to lead the assembler away, but he stood in place as he stressed to concentrate.

"I know Tracer must have had some reason. Was there someone or someplace you two talked about? _[fizz-click]_ _Xortravency_ : noun—is defined as the quality of being xortravent. Wasn't that helpful? _[fizz-click]_ _The resistance_! I have something important to give them!"

"I told you—we… Ugh!" TL turned around and charged at Delta-M6. The platform operator was startled and braced his arms against her. She pushed up and rolled him over the rails. He grabbed onto TL's arm as his legs hung over a foggy, chasmic drop.

"What in the pits is your defect?" shouted the platform operator .

"Nothing personal, drone. I just can't let you report what you heard back to the Quintessons!"

"I'm not a drone, I'm a protoform. Pull me up!"

"You stand here everyday like a drone, Delta-M6 is it? A drone's name…" TL was holding back the operator's legs from getting between the rails.

"I'm in disguise! My real name's _Chiron_. Assembler, if anyone knows that name it should be you. Just PLEASE, pull me up!"

"Uh, I… I can't remember."

"Check your journal, PLEASE!"

TL looked the assembler over. "I don't see his journal… I think his brain is supposed to keep track of his own memories—but I think it's broken or something."

The operator shouted again. "Argh! What do I have to do? Do I have to show my spark? DON'T DROP ME!" He reached down and opened his chest plate to reveal a glowing orb. "There, see? Now pull me up!"

"I don't think so." Said TL.

"WHAT?"

"You're trying to trick us. It won't work. Maybe the Quintessons have something that looks like a spark, but it isn't _really_ a spark y'know?"

The operator screamed hysterically. "There's nothing that looks ANYTHING like a spark!"

"Oh, really?"

The assembler spoke up. " _[fizz-click]_ Actually he is right about that."

"Oh…" TL paused, surprisingly ready to help the operator back up. "Alright. Hang on." She pulled up the operator who immediately collapsed to the ground in relief. "Now, can we trust you not to—"

"JUST GIVE ME A MOMENT!" He yelled back. "For the last few weeks my two biggest fears have been having my cover blown, and falling over this rail. You two just had to come in here and give me a double-dose of _wrecking-my-life_! Yeah… I _might_ be able to help you find Alpha Trion. Guess if I can look forward to more of you _trouble-starters_ coming in here, pushing me over the rails in full view of that camera—I guess I can't keep the charade up for much longer can I?" The operator looked across the gap to a fixed surveillance camera aimed right at them. "I certainly won't have a job after all this."

"You know where he is?" asked TL.

"No. Tracer came asking about him too, after calling me out to back him up against an enforcer. Can you believe that? What am I saying—here you guys are basically doing the same thing: making me blurt out my big secret! Of course I didn't help him, I had to act like a drone if I wanted to stay alive! Do you know how hard it is to not act scared, or bored… or lonely? So you want my help? Fine…" Chiron gestured for them to step back on the platform. "Hang on tight…" He threw the switch, and the platform sped straight down. He periodically fiddled with the controls, changing course almost randomly without warning.

"What are you, trying to shake us off? Do you even know where you're going?"

"The Quintessons have cameras all over. I know how to bypass most of them, but I'll be honest there will always be a few I can't avoid. We don't want them to know which way we went." Chiron zipped all over until TL and the assembler were too disoriented to stand. Finally coming to a stop directly across from a full wall of folded up robots.

"I thought you said you didn't know where to find Alpha Trion?" Asked TL.

"That's right." Answered Chiron "But if you ask me where I'd go if I were on the run, I'd come right here."

Chiron activated the mechanical armature. Reaching and pulling out a neatly cubical drone. "This is what's left of the real Delta-M6." he stated as the armature set the lump of cold metal on the platform. Chiron typed a sequence into the keypad. TL saw what he was doing, she'd seen the same sequence every day before being put into storage herself. She ran over and shoved him off the console.

"He tricked us! He was going to put us both in storage and report us to the Quintessons!"

The assembler stared shocked at the operator.

Chiron gave a heavy sigh. "You really have to learn to trust your fellow protoforms. The activation code isn't targeting you. It isn't targeting any of us. " and he pressed the last key.

[PENG-DA-BO-BEEB-YOM] The three looked ahead to watch the back panel of the empty storage chamber slide away. TL saw the faint telltale etching of a switchgrave.

"After you. Here, let me help you up." Chiron helped the other two crawl through the tiny space. "One last thing… he stepped over to the controls again. "We still have to cover our tracks. Get ready to catch…" He kicked the lever and dove toward the tiny opening. The platform dropped beneath him. Chiron's hands brushed the assembler's fingertips and he tumbled down.

"Idiot!" shouted TL. The assembler watched as Chiron flailed and managed to grab hold of one of the sleeping robots. His hand was grasped around the shaft of an arm or leg. He had just enough room to get his fingers around.

"I'm alright." He called out as he cautiously scaled the wall to reach the secret passage. He crawled through and closed the back wall behind them.

* * *

Lodex Gamma stood waiting in the Quitnessons viewing box of the Colosseum. The Quintessons arrived, followed by a shiny new drone with a single, large optic in place of a head. The Quintessons stood in the centre of the room and waited for Gamma to report to them.

"My lords…" addressed Gamma.

"What is our attendance?" asked Greed, before Inquiry commented "Today will be a day not soon forgotten by the workers."

"Sixteen thousand my lords."

"Excellent." replied Faith. "Have our contestants been properly… hmm… _equipped_ , Gamma?"

"I oversaw the preparations myself."

Pride spoke up. "And what of Kaetor, has he reached our mysterious traveler?"

"I am expecting he'll be within visual range in the next few cycles."

Malice stared at Gamma. "Notify us _the moment_ he is."

"Even if it interrupts this match?" gamma asked. "Who will oversee the remaining events in your absence?"

Pride slid into position and gestured to the new drone. "Allow us to introduce Lockshot. He has been programmed with every rule of the Colosseum. He will speak for us and dispense penalties should we have to leave." Malice took control and added "He is armed with our lethal and precise long-range ray-blaster that links directly to his hyper-sensitive optic."

"Would a recorder not have been appropriate?" asked an obviously jealous Gamma.

"No. It would not." answered Faith. "You have other duties to see to, do you not?"

"At once, my lords." Lodex Gamma bowed and departed the viewing box.

The Quintessons stepped closer to the archway leading out to their balcony. "The crowd certainly has taken a liking to these matches." mused Pride.

"They are waiting in anticipation." concluded Inquiry.

"They are hungry for carnage." hissed Malice.

"They are putty in our hands." chuckled Greed

"Let's not keep the fool-masses waiting, judgekin." stated Faith, before leading the Quintesson court onto the balcony.

[DWAAAAAAAAN]

The crowd eagerly turned to see the Quintessons ceremoniously raise their arms and tentacles to draw the attention of their subjects.

Faith raised his voice. "The sun rises on this new day! Just as the dawn's light stretches across this world, so too does our rule. Let it be clear that there can be no glory without obedience, no obedience without law, and no law without… _consequence_. Today you will witness those consequences, for we have apprehended a traitor who sought to incite chaos through our great and perfect city."

Pride continued. "This traitor, however, could not escape our grasp. He was seized the very same night as the crime he committed and when he was found… he fell to the ground and wept like the coward he is. His death should not be mourned; his death should be remembered only as testament than none can escape… _judgement_!"

The portcullis drew up and Tracer marched toward the centre of the arena. Both his sword and shield were carried in his left hand. He reached the centre ring and stood looking out at the countless protoforms watching him.

Malice slid into position. "Tracer… for your crimes against your fellow protoforms, we will ensure you die a slow death. We have given you the weapons of a true warrior, so that your peers may see you fail entirely by your own stupidity."

Pride again took control as the opposite portcullis lifted. An enforcer marched in. He wasn't the biggest Tracer had ever seen, but he exaggerated his arm swings. Tracer looked over the intricate plates on their exteriors. Pride smiled, "Now, let us welcome our chosen combatant for this match. More than a mere-enforcer, this one has been specialized for breaching barriers. He is able to strike through reinforced plating in a single punch. Victims who don't shatter instantly have been launched at high speeds. We are pleased to present Vapourcleave!"

The crowd cried out in excitement.

"Tracer, Vapourcleave… Salute your masters…"

Tracer watched Vapourcleave turn and face the Quintessons. The enforcer raised his right hand high. Palm open. Tracer drew in the dry air to cool himself. He turned slowly and raised his right hand. Fist clenched. Tracer glared from narrow-slits at the dark mass of looming, grimacing faces. There was a moment of silence as Tracer felt time slow. Tracer felt the cool air passing through every tube, every joint, and every minor component as it coursed throughout his form. Tracer waited for their sinister voice to order the battle to begin, but the silence was instead broken by a thundering tremor from the ground beneath his feet. Tracer did not take his eyes off the Quintessons as walls rose up around him. When they stopped, he could sense their peaks were too high to climb, and yet he could still make out most of the spectators in their seats.

The Quintessons looked down at the two combatants. "Let the match… BEGIN!"

Tracer raised his shield, and from it he unsheathed his blade. It was heavy and fairly long—just as he'd been told. As he looked around he could no longer see the enforcer. The two had been placed in a maze. Tracer started running through passages. He wasn't trying to navigate, rather constantly stay on the move, listening to the distant commotion from the spectators. He could also pick out the faint sound of someone laughing nearby.

" _It's just like they said…_ " said the faint laughing voice. Tracer turned around but there was nobody in sight.

Tracer turned a corner and came to a familiar open space… where he had started. He sprinted to take a different route. The sun was rising over the rim of the Colosseum, against the shadows on the path ahead of him he saw the silhouette of an enforcer leap down from over the walls.

Tracer dove to one side and rolled under his shield as the enforcer landed and drove his fist into the ground where Tracer had been. He could feel the ground shake as the crowd shouted from above. Tracer regained his fighting stance, holding his blade behind him—as he was taught. The enforcer charged as Tracer feinted to one side before dashing to the other. It was to no avail, however, as Vapourcleave still swung one arm back and extended a hidden blade.

The blade clipped Tracer's shield and knocked it clear over a wall. Tracer quickly drew his blade forward and assumed a clumsy fighting stance. He watched the enforcer slowly step toward him, extending a second blade from his other forearm. Vapourcleave forced a hollow laugh as he took his time with every step. Tracer worried he would be backed into a corner as he fixed his optics on his opponent.

"Just like they said… you lack the courage and skill to commit to a fight. I'll give you a chance to make this _fun_. I'll put my blades away until you land, hmm… I'll say _five_ hits. How does that sound?" He didn't wait for Tracer to reply before his blades retracted back into his arms.

"Won't that make your masters angry?" Tracer gloated.

"They want me to kill you; but I want to take my time. It needs to be perfect." He then lunged forth and wound up for another strike. Tracer had only a nanoclick to react. The two crashed and bounced off one another as each one tried to land a hit. They both traded glancing blows off one another while Vapour counted out loud. Tracer proved well aware of his surroundings. Vapourcleave wasn't able to line up a hit at full power.

"One." as Tracer's sword deflected an incoming punch. "Two." as Tracer chipped the blade against an armoured ankle. "Three" as Tracer again deflected another incoming strike. But Tracer saw the enforcer had stepped too far—trying to land too powerful a blow—and he took full advantage and slashed at the exposed components between the plates of armour. Electric sparks and compressed mech fluid sprayed out and Tracer quickly drew his weapon back. The enforcer swung his other heavy arm around and Tracer stepped in close and with both hands thrust the sword into a gap of the enforcer's chest plate. Vapourcleave shoved Tracer back and stood tall with one limp arm and Tracer's sword lodged in his chest.

"And that makes five." He said as he pulled the sword out. He stood still to let Tracer see the wound… and the pulsating orb the blade had just barely missed.

"You have... a spark?" Exclaimed Tracer. "How… why?"

Vapourcleave tossed the sword to the ground at Tracer's feet. "It's just like they said… you won't kill me now that you know what I am. I can't possibly lose this fight!"

Tracer picked up his sword, but inside his mind his concentration began to slip. The voice had told him he was facing an enforcer; not another protoform. He was so dumbfounded he didn't realize Vapourcleave was charging at him at full speed.

 _[KSHUMPF]_ Tracer was struck by a devastating punch that propelled him through the air and colliding with one of the maze walls.

Vapourcleave laughed as he slowly advanced.

* * *

Lodex Gamma sprinted into the Quintessons viewing box. He let the Quintessons hear him approach.

"Kaetor has reached the alien vessel?" Asked Inquiry.

"Yes, my lords."

Faith turned instantly toward the recorder. "Did you tell him to wait for further instructions?"

"Yes, my lords."

The Quintessons touched a tentacle to Lockshot's shoulder. "You are now in charge of the Colosseum."

"Thank you, my lords." Whispered the drone.

Gamma watched the Quintessons clamber swiftly across the room to the exit. "What will you have me do now, masters?"

Pride glared rather annoyed at the recorder. "Assist Lockshot in any way he needs. Then report to us with the day's results."

Gamma's shoulders sunk. "As you wish… my lords."

* * *

Tracer's head rolled around as he oriented himself. He ignored the sword as he wobbled atop uncoordinated feet.

"I completely forgot…" gloated Vaopurcleave "I can use my blades again." He raised his arm and extended the blade. He looked down to his other limp, damaged arm. "I can make do with one."

Tracer blinked his optics as he tried to focus on the approaching enforcer. The impact had briefly scrambled some of his circuitry. He was aware of what was happening, but when he looked at Vapourcleave he couldn't see the loyal enforcer, nor could he see the new protoform he'd become. No. Tracer saw an abomination. Everything that taught him to value life, everything that made him unique could still become a mere instrument in the hands of the Quintessons. _'Is there nothing they will not defile to obtain power? I won't let them win; I can't let them win! I will defy them for as long as my spark burns inside me.'_

_'…And any spark who serves those monsters must pay for their betrayal!'_

The world around him was agony to every one of his senses. Tracer felt his vision blur. When the world came into focus again Tracer felt his spark surge: a warming force like molten metal rising from his core. He suddenly had to dispense his own _judgement_. He felt every fear and doubt crumble away. His senses heightened. But this didn't come from his training… Tracer had succumbed to _rage_.

Vapourcleave was within striking distance of his target. He slashed his blade down to watch it miss by a wire's width. Tracer moved out of the way faster than he thought was possible. He swung again and again, feeling fear grip his own spark more and more. Every strike he dealt would only just miss his target. Vapourcleave soon realized Tracer wasn't _just_ _barely_ evading, he was deliberately getting as close to being struck as he could without letting it touch him. With every attack Vapourcleave was revealing every flaw, every weakness he had. He made a final turn, stepped and brought his blade around slicing only into air before Tracer finally struck back.

Vapourcleave felt multiple impacts, unable to tell which order they occurred. He felt a knee buckle, there were multiple strikes on his arm, and several impacts purely to offset his balance. The last strikes he felt were several sequential blows to the head before he lost consciousness and fell to the ground.

Tracer picked up his sword as the enforcer lay stunned on the arena floor. Tracer roared as he charged, gripping the sword with both hands he fixed his optics on his target: the spark chamber in the dead centre of his chest.

"HAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

 _'And this time I won't miss!'_ He thrust the blade down, watching as it shattered on impact. As the shards of metal scattered onto the arena floor, Tracer's concentration dispersed with them. his rage receded and he felt burdened by the experince.

Vapourcleave looked back. He watched Tracer's fanaticism disappear from his optics. He swung back and his blade bit deep into Tracer's shoulder. Tracer collapsed to the ground. His spark felt drained, and he lost the will to fight. He watched Vapourcleave stand tall and hold his blade to Tracer's neck. The awareness of his end cleared his mind of all desires. His experiences consolidated into futile humility. An earlier Tracer might have mocked the idea.

The walls of the maze slowly sank back into the ground. As the mechanical thunder gradually ended, the crowd could be heard cheering and hooting their innumerable voices. It began softly from a few, but it wasn't long before all sides were shouting in unison the same word over and over.

" _UN-SPARK, UN-SPARK, UN-SPARK…_ "

"Everything has happened exactly as they said… Now I'll have to stay _this way_... Before I end you, tell me… is there no way to ease this pain?"

Tracer looked up with open optics. "What?"

The enforcer's optics quaked as he look down at Tracer. "I have killed hundreds of protoforms and never once did I feel anything. Now… I can see every one of their faces in the moment I… and I can't get them out of my mind! They told me taking your life would bring me satisfaction. But it won't ease the pain, will it? I'll remember your face just like I remember all the others. Is there no way to forget what I am?"

Tracer drew in the arena air. "I wanted to kill you just now… but that doesn't mean I could live with myself tomorrow for having done it. You've… murdered protoforms. But… that was as an enforcer; that was who you _were_. Maybe… now… you can choose not to kill. But if they're going to kill me no matter what, I hope you at least get a chance to feel what it's like to be free."

Lockshot's voice rang through the Colosseum's speakers. "Vapourcleave. Destroy Tracer's spark-chamber."

The enforcer in the arena did not move.

"Vapourcleave! You are ordered to destroy Tracer immediately!"

"It won't be like they said..." Vapourcleave extended his hand down for Tracer to pull himself up. Tracer raised his hand to take it, but before he could grab on an energy bolt pierced through the exact centre of Vapourcleave's chest. Spark dust wafted from the wound, and the enforcer collapsed to the ground.

Tracer pulled himself to his feet and looked up at the vacant balcony where the creators watched from. He threw back his shoulders and forced up as much energy from his spark as he could to amplify his voice " _Quintessons_ , true cowards send others to fight in their place! An enforcer with a spark chose to disobey, whose loyalty will be next?"

Tracer didn't see the Quintessons emerge from their dark chamber. He only heard the amplified voice of a calm drone fill the Colosseum.

"Combatant: Vapourcleave has violated the rules by refusing to kill his opponent. By the rules set by the Immortal Quitnessons, I declare Tracer the match winner!"

Lodex Gamma stepped in and whispered to Lockshot. "The rules also prohibit attempting to rally the audience… The Quintessons would have you punish Tracer as well. Did they not specifically say they wanted him dead?"

"The Quintessons gave me the tournament rules and left me with the final decision of any match in their absence. I have chosen the first violator of the rules to be executed and that does not violate their instructions. One combatant has been eliminated and the match has a victor."

"You may have all the rules pertaining to the Colosseum, but _I_ oversee the rest of this city—if not this entire planet! This display can only result in even more dissension amongst the protoforms. I will surely inform the Quintessons of this major oversight."

"You will do as you will. I will continue to oversee the rest of today's matches."

* * *

Tracer continued to stare up, but the Quintessons' balcony remained empty. Nothing emerged from the shadowed chamber. Nothing called down to condemn the single, tiny protoform standing in the arena. No traps poised ready to end him. Commotion stirred amongst the spectators. They were not thrilled, they were not outraged. They just stared down at Tracer.

Silence rose.

The portcullis drew up and an astonished Stalkyr waited for Tracer to exit. _'Nothing?'_ Tracer thought, _'No comeback, no order to kill me; they're just letting me go?'_ He stared up at their balcony again: still empty.

Tracer marched toward the portcullis, waiting for the moment the Quintessons would step in and rip his spark clean out of his chest. He entered the cover of the Colosseum substructure as the portcullis closed behind him. He was safe, but why?

_'The Quintessons didn't do anything because the Quintessons aren't here. They're gone… What could possibly have been so important they'd just leave before seeing this through? If I am not their biggest priority, what is?'_


	15. The Traveler

"It's just over the next ridge." Kaetor shouted over the howling wind into the transmitter. In his left hand he carried a heavy, sealed box—a special item he was ordered to take.

The Quintessons watched closely at a dozen monitors scattered around the cramped communications chamber adjacent to their throne room. Cameras had been placed to record a 360 degree view around the distant drone.

"We sent only a single drone?" protested Malice. "I could've amassed an army to force anyone there to surrender to us unconditionally."

Pride also spoke up. "Had we gone ourselves, this _traveler_ would know that we do not send any underlings to do our business for us."

"Until we know this being has anything of value," Greed commented "we should not go at all. We take all that we desire, and bargain only as a last resort."

"SILENCE!" snapped Faith. "There has never been a planet so unique as this. It would be most wise, dear judgekin, to address potential dangers promptly. I doubt this being is half as powerful as he claimed to be, but let us not dismiss it on that assumption alone."

Inquiry casually slid into position "A single drone is not enough to frighten away our quarry. We have the means to speak through him without placing ourselves at any risk. Sending only one assures that even a simple scouting mission does not leak to the masses. Information gives us power, and secrecy protects it. We must not have anything challenge the loyalty of our workers. Thus we will remain their only choice for servitude."

"There." Kaetor's line of sight raised up to reveal a small, grey, metallic object on the horizon.

"A small craft…" muttered Inquiry. He and the rest were dashing across to look over the scattered monitors. Although they were still far off, _something_ could yet be lurking nearby and they had to be completely aware of Kaetor's surroundings. As he got closer more features could be seen on the craft: the squared-away tail fins; curved engine housings; a tall, geometric fuselage; and a sleek, tapered nosecone.

" _Walkeerian_." Pride sneered. Few things infuriated spacefaring engineers more than to have such makeshift scrap piles repeatedly keep pace with their perfect designs. These ships are more a product of desperate innovation than thoughtful purpose. The Quintessons saw them as wastefully defiling advanced technologies they hadn't properly earned. It was one of the reasons the Quintessons had them all exterminated a century ago.

Or so they thought.

Kaetor continued to hike towards the craft. The exterior was in good condition. A few parts were clearly repaired, sloppily, with only minimal damage from a crash-landing.

"Slovenly engineering." proclaimed Pride.

"No room for cargo." mentioned Greed.

"No weapons." reported Malice.

"Clearly a modified scout." concluded Inquiry.

"This cannot be what we seek!" interrupted Pride "Royalty would not settle for such unsophisticated… such _atrocious_ conditions!"

"Royalty in desperation, perhaps…" commented Faith. He raised his voice to address Kaetor "Do not approach just yet. Search the other side…" Kaetor did as he was told, as he was programmed. The port side revealed no surprises. No weapons, no significant damage. No signs of any activity. The engines showed some scorch marks, possibly from overheating.

 _'They may yet be repairable_ —' Inquiry thought, and the others sensed the realization. The windshield to the cockpit was tinted; nothing inside could be seen. Kaetor finished his perimeter.

"Wait here." Faith commanded softly. Kaetor stood at attention facing the small craft. "Now, repeat after me…"

Kaetor raised his chin as he charged his vocals to cut through the wind. "Walkeerian Vessel, I speak on behalf of the Quintessons: the Court of the Untamed Quadrant of the flagship _Honor's Claim_. We have generously responded to your call for rescue. If you do not respond we will force entry into your vessel."

The only sound over the transmitters was the wind.

"Go inside, Kaetor."

"Yes, my masters."

There was a sealed hatch. Kaetor could see a keypad on the door. Walkeerian letters look like messy scribbles. Kaetor tapped a random sequence of keys; expecting a 'beep' or a 'ding' or a ' _KLONGESH TIP'FLAYEREEZ_ '—the Walkeerian phrase for 'incorrect sequence'. But the keypad made no sound. Nothing lit up. All systems appeared to be shut down. Kaetor wasted no time, he reached down, drew up a thermal torch and began tracing out the door into the vessel. After a moment he peeled the door out, tossed in onto the ground and stepped in.

The inside of the craft was in total disarray. Service panels were open, wires hung loose, containers of crispy, carbon-based material were spilled over floors and shelves. Kaetor slowly inspected the tight spaces inside and around the modular cabin anywhere a small crew member could be hiding away. He looked in compartments and behind panels to find no living thing. Stepping softly over scrap piles, he slowly made his way to the cockpit.

The door was closed, but not locked. Kaetor lurched the rusty door open, prying it with a dry grinding sound of mechanisms left too long without basic maintenance. Kaetor stood still for a moment looking around the cockpit. A bipedal body lay propped up against the starboard wall. Kaetors optics locked on immediately. The prolonged stare only diminished their optimism. No thermal signature, no motion… just a thin, grey suit and domed helmet clinging to a dried skeleton.

It would appear they arrived far too late for a rescue.

"This was all a complete waste!" cursed Greed.

"That's because this isn't the traveler we seek." announced Pride. "There could be _hundreds_ of shipwrecks across this planet."

"Let's test that theory…" Inquiry moved away from the crowded monitor of the deceased pilot. He looked around the images of the cockpit. "The centre console…" He suggested. A simple vessel has simple controls. You don't need to read Walkeerian to tell which instruments were for the engines, the communications, and most importantly, for the main power supply. "Reactivate the ships computer."

Kaetor groped around the console. Levers and buttons still didn't have any effect. But the mess of open panels eventually lead him to a small compartment with a heavy-gauge cable running fore to aft.

"That's the main power line." Inquiry stated, "See if there is a node we can work with." Kaetor traced out the path and began lifting floor panels until he saw a box with branching wires, relays, and other makeshift components. "Kaetor, disengage your secondary power cell…"

Kaetor paused at the order. "My lords, I may not have enough of a charge to return."

"We know."

Kaetor opened the panel on his chest and removed a cylinder to begin the connection. Sparks jumped as the final connection was made. Kaetor stood up to listen to old lights hum and computers buzz as the main computer booted up. Kaetor went over to the main computer on the large console. A digital voice stuttered and skipped while reciting its main functions. The Quintessons set their translators for Walkeerian.

"ESKOP JO GLESHNID."

The Quintessons computer stuttered with the conversion [BLEEP-BLOP. SYSTEM… READY]

"Get us into the ships logs." Pride ordered. "If this is the traveler, what's so important that this pilot would call upon us for rescue?" Kaetor cautiously pressed single keys until the display changed.

"GORASH VERIN KER TO'POSIL."

[BLEEP-BLOP. PILOT… JOURNAL]

"Excellent." Inquiry grinned in anticipation "Find the entry when he landed here. It should be from around 17-6 with gamma chronosync." Kaetor read over the screen carefully. Tapping keys occasionally, until he found the likely file. Audio format.

"SSSKETSSEEE ISSSIKSSSSTEE SSSSST EESSSSAKTSSSSS TZZKSSS…"

The translator beeped and rang with error messages and noise.

"What is this?" Greed groaned.

"Something's wrong with the translators!" howled Pride.

"Nothing is wrong with the Translators!" shouted Inquiry. He slid around to review the monitors, listening carefully for subtle clues in the vocabulary. "Kaetor, let's have a better look at our pilot."

Kaetor knelt over the corpse without touching it. He could see the hand was holding a small tool. Dried fluid stained the tool and the pilot's chest. The face inside the dusty helmet was wide with small sockets for eyes. Deep, flat teeth beneath a leathery face that had folded over onto itself. ' _Soft bones, perhaps?'_ His skin was riddled with mineral deposits. Metallic and crystalline growths sprouted out of his jawline and brow ridge.

Faith chuckled. "Hmm, yes." sliding over beside Inquiry. "I think our answer lies with his feet."

Kaetor and the others turned to see the feet. Boots of sorts, but rather than wear what looked more like blocky weights, the pilot held onto them with a short tentacle at the end of each leg.

"It would appear our pilot is a distant relative of the Gneer Slugs from Rius…" Inquiry hypothesized. "Interesting…"

"How did he get a Walkeerian ship?" asked Pride.

"We can't translate Gneer Slug!" grouched Greed. "Hargh, this whole operation has been for nothing!"

"Patience, judgekin," Faith began "he acquired this ship _somehow_ , and I doubt our pilot ever met a Walkeerian face-to-face. So they must have traded with someone, let's hope they adopted a language we _can_ translate. The Glith? The Nur? NO. Remember, it had to be someone who knew how to send a distress call _in our language_."

"Walkeerians regularly sold ships to the Olos, the Drit, and the Felcur." Recounted Greed.

"We conquered the Felcur." chuckled Malice. "They fell behind on their tributes. They trade in twigs now. Pathetic."

"Well, I suppose if someone still trades with the Vrend…" Greed laughed at his own preposterous notion.

Pride rolled his eyes, but Inquiry drew a tentacle around his chin as he let his mind wander. He drew out a rather eccentric correlation " _The Vrend_ … traded spices between Rius and Alkeer! It's possible a small craft could have—" He hastily punched the commands to set the translators to Vrendish. The computer extrapolated the gender, age and mood of the speaker; producing the equivalent speaking voice for a more familiar species. The message hadn't stopped playing, so the translator picked up in mid-sentence. The speaker didn't sound quite like they expected. It sounded like a scornful youthful male.

[BLEEP-BLOP—fifteen days. I don't even remember falling asleep, or activating the autopilot. This stupid computer took me right off course into an uncharted solar system. I must've been hit by a solar flare and scrambled the whole computer. I should have been scared, but this sounded just like that chapter in my grandfather's memoirs and made me feel sorta like a real adventurer. I spent the last five hours getting the darn thing to boot up. I wish you could have been here to see this planet. Yeah, it's far off, had to look through the grainy long-range scope. But wow. Completely metal. Both moons too! I've only heard there were maybe three such planets in the entire galaxy. I think before I leave I'll make a flyby and get a closer look. You'll get the images when I can transmit far enough to reach you. Until then, it's like I'm just keeping a personal journal.]

"Playing next entry." Droned Kaetor.

[BLEEP-BLOP—Dear Sketzy, remind me to never set my tentacles on a Walkeerian ship ever again. The computer's worse than I thought, and I just barely held this rust-bucket together through that 'landing'. Shyeeesh. ' _Just like new_ ' the guy told me. ' _She's only had one owner_ —' –yeah and it's been rusting in your dock for ages you cheat!" The voice took a deep breath. "At least I survived the landing in one piece. I wonder if my grandfather ever called for rescue. He never wrote about it, but just because it wasn't what saved him, doesn't mean he didn't do anything it took to make sure he made it home. There are two ships on long-range scan. One's a Quint—I didn't know they came out this far—but they won't help me for free. They'd take my ship, my body fluids and just drop me off in orbit to call it even…]

"Hmm… I like the way this one thinks." muttered Greed.

[The other one, I don't know… it has a strange signature. They keep repeating the same signal over and over… like some kind of ritual chant. I might be able to encrypt a message so just the Quints pick it up. I could make it look like just noise to everybody else. Still don't have anything of value. I better get back to work. I might try to take off on my own. There's usable metal all around. I'll patch up the damage and hope for the best.]

"He just said he has nothing!" shouted Greed.

"He may have discovered something that _changed_ that…" replied Inquiry.

"Perhaps it is time for you to rest, Greed. We can wake you if your skills are needed." said Faith.

Kaetor tapped more keys "Nothing for a few days, this is the next entry..."

[BLEEP-BLOP—Dearest Sketzy, if _this_ is cabin fever… I'm perfectly fine being stranded for a little longer. I mean, I know… I just _know_ there's nobody around. But I can… heh. Iunno, I can hear people. I think I'm losing it just a bit. Maybe, I've been working myself too hard. I fixed the holes in the plating. I might try a test flight, see if she holds up. Those ships are still in range if I need to put in that distress call. They're taking their sweet time. I even think that second ship is… heh, following the Quints! Ah, well it's good to know things for me could be a lot worse. I can't imagine who would try stalking a Quintesson flagship. I've heard they don't like being approached. Everyone's heard of pirates attacking a Quintesson ship, but _nobody_ 's heard of a survivor from one. Asking for help is—h'yeah—foolish, but I'm not about to start making any sorta demands." The reconstructed voice inhaled deeply while the alien in the recording fiddled with loose parts. Busying his hands as he sighed. "I really hope things go okay. Not just for me, but for us when I get home. My grandfather made adventuring sound so glorious, so life-changing. I always thought my grandfather was so wise, but maybe my father had the wisdom to know his limits. If I make it back I'll… I don't want to be… heh, I _want_ to live that simple life you talked about. I want it more than anything right now.]

Malice grunted at the level of sentiment. "Can we skip to the part where he kills himself!"

"It's _obvious_ this isn't what we've been searching for." Commented Pride.

"SILENCE!" commanded Faith as he took control and clenched the body's fists. "You're all bickering like Gorjan pups! We ventured far for the promise of power, and no matter _your_ discomfort from any of this, we will have the truth!"

[BLEEP-BLOP—My beloved Sketzy, I'm lucky to be alive. Regulator in the port engine blew. I may have the materials, but those babies take two thousand slug-hours to make. I'm beginning to accept that I… I may never see you again. I've checked my rations, and I maybe have enough for another month—month and a half if I practice starving. At least I'm not alone out here… It's not like I'm hearing _voices_. More like I'm… feeling thoughts. Memories. They come and go just like _that_. Thoughts of home. Not of my home… just the feeling of _being in your home_. Friends… Hope… I'm stranded in a sea of momentary emotions. I sometimes see glowing lights outside when they come. It's helped me make it this far. If anyone finds these recordings, please bring them to Sketzy Tsaka in the spaceport city of Stilis, Asik province, southern continent, Rius. I hope against all odds that these make it safely to you. I hope you live a good life. Have a good family, and tell your children to work hard, never stop learning, make friends, and never _ever_ fly in a Walkeerian ship! Hahaha—heh… Yours forever, Zyrk.]

"There's only one entry left. Approximately 17-6 gamma chronosync." Kaetor didn't wait for the order to play it.

The traveler didn't sound like himself. The reconstructed translation projected the restless trembling in his voice. He took long, insecure breaths before finally speaking. [BLEEP-BLOP—Something's… _haunting_ me. I don't understand. I've felt the thoughts of a thousand sympathetic minds pass through. Each one lasted for a moment before leaving. I can... I can tell them apart like each one is a friend I've not seen in years. Each one was unique. But this one—THIS ONE, it—it won't leave me alone! I know it's coming when I see that _violet_ glow… The others brought me comfort—they helped me, but this one seeks to... I don't know. I want it gone. JUST GO AWAY! I can hear it even when I'm sleeping. I've been awake for two days… it, you—YOU WON'T TAKE ME! I don't want to think of what I'll do if it tries to… AHH, THAT DECEIVING SALESMAN! THIS IS ALL HIS FAULT, BY THE FIRES OF THE BRIGHTEST STARS MY HATRED FOR YOU WILL BURN FOREVER! YOU SOLD ME THIS PIECE OF RUST AND LEFT ME TO DRIFT THROUGH THE EMPTINESS OF SPACE… TO CRASH HERE, ON THIS KARNFORSAKEN ROCK. I WILL BE FREE FROM THIS. AND WHERE IS HE… AFTER ALL THIS TIME… WHY DO CONTINUE TO AVOID ME. HOW LONG MUST WE PLAY THIS GAME? SHOW YOURSELF! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME. **WHERE ARE YOU NOW?** ] The voice in the recording reverberated through the hull of the vessel and out into the air of the metal planet. There's a long pause as the creature's breathing comes under control. His voice composed itself into a confident hum over a sea of the calmest, yet darkest intention. The voice didn't register in the translator. It spoke in perfect Quintessian: the universal language of power. " _This form... won't do_." The recording cut out.

"Immediately following the recording," Kaetor reported "a single transmission was sent out to our ship. Then everything was shut down." Executing keystrokes to play the recording of the transmission before Faith interrupted him.

"We remember all too well what the message said, Kaetor. Open the item we sent with you."

Kaetor had set it down just inside the door. He opened the sealed box. Inside were captive sparks linked to a detonator and a digital readout.

A prototype spark-bomb.

"Turn it on, and exit the craft." Pride calmly ordered.

The time on the digital display counted down. Kaetor slowly walked away from the craft. After several moments he heard "Halt. Turn around." He looked back to the craft. Watching it sit there motionless before a white-hot fireball engulfed the entire shuttle. Shrapnel flew in all directions and the shockwave knocked him off his feet. After watching the monitors fill with dust and static Inquiry counted to himself, as the static eventually dissipated.

"Hmmm..." Inquiry mused "Only twelve clicks of interference... one of the sparks failed to detonate. Has the craft been destroyed?"

"Yes." Kaetor calmly reported.

"Good work, open your panel. Set the output on your primary power cell to fifty." Malice coolly suggested. Coolly or commandingly, Kaetor couldn't help but obey. But he voiced his thoughts while his hands worked.

"My… my lords. Are you not pleased with me? Will I return to continue serving your greatness?"

"You are. Set the output to seventy." Pride calmly replied.

Kaetor turned up the dial. He felt energy making small arcs in his circuitry. He collapsed to a kneel with the shock of several systems failing, data tracks and memories vanished.

"Set output to one hundred…" Malice grinned into the monitors. The trembling drone was smoking and collapsed to the ground. A trembling hand swiped across the components inside him. He lay still a moment before the power cell ruptured. The last images on the screens were the pieces of Kaetor exploding into the air.

The Quintessons turned off the monitors. Sitting motionless as their five brains processed what they just learned. They didn't need to speak aloud. Their minds could feel subtle empathies of puzzlement, envisioning, and finally clarity. The conclusion came into chilling focus, and carried heavy implications. They took a great risk coming to this planet. The call for rescue didn't suggest this unfortunate, desperate, sentimental adventurer; it was supposed to be a powerful ruler. This ruler was offering a reward in exchange for his… _freedom_. The word had seemed an odd choice to mean rescue, but the pieces were finally falling into place. They were not called to this planet by a mere lost traveler.

They had been called to this planet by a single, powerful **spark**.

"We've been tricked!" Shouted Pride. "The mission, all this time, all the resources… everything! It's all been a waste!"

"We should leave this world." said Greed, emerging from behind. "We may find something of value on some nearby moon, asteroid, anything's better than sitting on this worthless rust-ball! However, Honor's Claim is still weeks from being spaceworthy again."

"If I may offer a dissenting opinion:" began Inquiry "there is still a resource here we may yet exploit…"

Greed groaned "You're referring to the sparks no doubt. Haven't we been careless enough with them?"

"Careless? We've merely been testing their potential. Although it has mainly been a side-project up until now, I think this now gives us all the more reason to devote our full attention to them."

"And we've seen where those potentials lie." said Pride "Shall we contact the Supreme Court and tell them we've discovered an energy source to create insubordinate workers or an unremarkable ordinance device? We have gone too long already without reporting our findings, and how few they really are. It would appear we know little more than a Gneer slug who died long before we arrived."

"My fellow judgekin…" Faith spoke up. "We are not as helpless as a Gneer Slug. We are Quintessons! We do not accept failure, and we do not abandon before a task is complete. Our heritage is dominance! We will take whatever means necessary to protect ourselves from any influence these sparks could have. The sparks and energon are now the only untapped power this world—perhaps this entire quadrant—has. Yet there is still much we do not know about them. There is still potential here, and we will see this through. If they cannot be exploited we will drill to this planets core and destroy every single remaining speck until only the lifeless hollow metal remains, then we'll tear up this world and sell the entire planet piece… by… piece!"

"I am concerned, my judgekin." Greed said as he keyed into a database on one of the computers "The sparks are already growing beyond our ability to contain them. In the last week alone the number of unaccounted protoforms exceeded one hundred! Even if we assume a modest percentage of 5% of our workforce experiences accidental losses, these numbers are rising too fast. Enforcers are not going missing, neither are recorders or drones. With the possibility that the secret to longevity has been discovered, it's possible our authority over the protoforms has already begun to diminish. We must do EVERYTHING in our power to hold the protoforms allegiance if we are to depart this planet with anything of value… not to mention our very lives. We may want to consider requesting reinforcements from the Supreme Court."

Faith slid into position looking out into the room as he retorted "Am I to understand you genuinely fear for our very safety? Need I remind you of our heritage. The Courts which preceded us endeavored to produce the truest stock. Not a single Quintesson in our bloodline has ever fallen to an enemy. But we _will_ fall to our own if we disgrace our proud society with even a single act of cowardice. I think we all know what steps must now be taken: the protoforms must all be destroyed."

The Quintessons unlocked the door and stepped into the throne room. They stepped out and saw Lockshot and Lodex Gamma bickering at the centre of the hall. Stalkyr stood a ways back, observing.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Pride.

Lodex stepped forward. "How could you let this travesty happen? Why was Tracer allowed to live after what he did?"

"What do you mean?" asked Inquiry.

"The protoform broke the rules of the Colosseum... he somehow coaxed our enforcer into throwing the fight! What's worse, he turned the arena into a protoform resistance rally!"

Malice bolted to the centre slot as he bent their tall form over Lockshot. "WHAT? Were our instructions _unclear_?"

"My lords," said Lockshot "with all due respect, I was going off your instructions to ensure the crowd was satisfied with the result. However we may have wanted to control the outcome, our combatant willingly broke the rules. It had never been explicitly stated—"

Malice swung a fist and narrowly missed the drone "—That a match can have BOTH combatants lose?"

Stalkyr stepped forward. "Clearly this task is beyond the abilities of a typical drone, I most graciously request that—"

Pride took control and glared down. "What? That we let _you_ fight Tracer in the next match?"

"Please masters! I've never seen someone so deserving of it. I will kill him and the protoforms will fear you, as they are meant to."

"We can't just kill him anymore…" began Faith.

Lodex cocked his head as he performed come calculations. "My lords! Tracer's actions in the arena have already begun to affect the workers. We've had a fifteen percent increase in insubordination, and an unprecedented phenomenon of social unity would suggest the actions in the arena might cascade into a protoform revolt! Tracer must be eliminated immediately!"

"Killing him now would make him a martyr." continued Faith. " The problem with martyrs is you can only kill them once. We must kill his _reputation_ first."

Pride glanced at the thin drone "Lockshot, you may return to the Colosseum and await our orders. Lodex, prepare a list of every protoform connected to any acts of insubordination or disappearance. Stalkyr, come with us." The drones bowed and marched off. Stalkyr followed the Quintessons as they slowly walked out of their hall into one of their adjacent laboratories. On one of the walls were shelves of sorted cubes small enough to fit in one hand. They were all made of a crystalline circuit encased in a metal frame. They had a slight glow that dimmed once every few seconds. The Quintessons ran their hands across the shelves, reading the cubes and counting spaces.

"Do you know how small your brain is?" asked Inquiry, not wasting a moment to supply the answer "Yes you'd prefer to have all your other components: your optics to see, your audio receptors to hear, your legs to walk etcetera, etcetera… but your personality, and your idiosyncratic perceptions can all be stored in one of these cubes. These cubes facilitate minimal activity, drawing infinitesimal energy. They act as a perpetual data storage device. Being efficient though it is, once a program is inside it will not be able to generate new experiences. A cycle of activity keeps programs from being idle, but once a cycle ends the next one resets and starts over. You cannot fully experience this level of existence. All you feel is the inescapable passage of time."

The Quintessons run their hand along the wall of cubes. Scanning bar-codes as the hand runs up and down. "Although you are not the most cunning of our servants, even you must have noticed that no two enforcers are the same. If all our enforcers were the same, the flaws of individuals magnify into a weakness of our entire regiment. Each of your idiosyncrasies adapt to the chaos of real-world conditions. Programming personalities is usually a laborious task, but sometimes becomes more art than science. At times we admire how simply through intuition we compose a personality that surpasses our expectations." They pull one cube out of its socket in the wall. Holding it gently on their fingertips as they turn fully toward Stalkyr " _This one_ had a rather unconventional way of interpreting our orders, and yet a very efficient means of… _executing_ them. We felt that his expertise were greater than the responsibilities available to him. Now that we need abilities well above those of typical enforcers, it seems we may finally bring him out of retirement… Say hello to _Atross_."

"You will not let me face Tracer in the arena?"

"We enter an unprecedented new phase in our operations. The protoforms—every last one of them—are now a serious threat to the future of this operation. Until now we have been very lenient toward them. The time will come when we will exterminate every single one of them, but first we must break their spirit. Tracer must be killed in the arena for all to see, but he must not die a martyr. You may know him well enough... you just might bring out the worst in him. Tempt, tease and taunt him down the evolutionary ladder. He will show his arrogance, that he is just as selfish and cowardly as any primitive creature. Then you can kill him like an animal. We will give you one chance to prove yourself. If you fail, Atross _WILL_ kill Tracer… and we will scrape up whatever remains of your decrepit mind and put you in this very cube to regret your worthless existence _until the end of time_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 (14 if you don't count the prologue) is not the end of the story, but it is where I have chosen to stop writing, and I don't know if I'll ever pick it up again. This was a project I pushed myself to get this far, and I need a break before I start again. If you have read this far. I truly want to thank you. I think the very least any artist can hope for is that his or her work is seen (I think that's why we're all here) so I want to thank you for your time and I hope there were parts of this story you enjoyed. Again, thank you all so much.


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